Invaders of Redwall
by Cairn Destop
Summary: Ambitions bared, prophecies given, dreams interpreted, and a secret revealed. An army invades the region, and their next target is an Abbey located in Mossflower Forest - Redwall.
1. Ten Weeks Ago

**AUTHOR NOTES**: This story does not follow the canons of the series creator. Time is expressed in human terms, not in seasons. You will find grey characters instead of the absolute good and evil used by Brian Jaques.

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Tassel sat at the table in Cavern Hole, supervising the orphaned and abandoned dibbuns placed in her care. Mealtime conversations swirled around the table touching on many topics that interested the children. She ignored their discussions, pleased with their good behavior.

Another child ran into the vast dining hall, keeping ahead of her parents. "We have snow outside," she shouted.

Tassel snorted at the excited announcement. "Snow this early in the year? We just celebrated the fall equinox three nights earlier."

Every child, including those at her table, rushed to the nearest window. Redwall Abbey resounded with the sounds of delight from every child as snowflakes drifted across the window. They remained enthralled by the sight until elders herded them back to their tables. Tassel too found her young charges reluctant about leaving the scene.

The next morning, every child raced through their chores, eager to be outside. When Tassel dismissed her brood, they charged the front door like a hungry mob at a picnic. She almost laughed at their efforts to secure boots and heavy coats while running to the door. As the first child prepared to exit, Tassel opened the door and joined the Abbey's eager children for their first sight of the early snowfall.

She almost laughed at the crestfallen expressions on every child's face. Instead of a deep blanket of snow that could support snowball battles and snow carvings, the dibbuns found the ground dusted by a thin, disappointing layer of slush, good for nothing more than viewing. Most of the children went back inside to shed the heavy garments.

Badgermom Tassel decided to remain outside. She prowled the Abbey grounds checking on the dibbuns who came out earlier. She made sure those with chores outside were hard at work under some trusted elder's supervision. Tassel did a quick check on those playing, making sure all behaved, though she didn't disturb their fun.

Her meanderings took her to the Abbey's small orchard, which was as far from the Abbey proper as she could go without leaving the confines of Redwall. She knew her mate, Bruno, had planned to do some pruning. She decided to surprise him with a visit.

A heavy tree limb crashed to the ground by Tassel's foot. Her head tilted upward. At the top of a ladder, Bruno stood with a saw gripped in his paw. He gave his mate a sly grin as he apologized for allowing the severed limb to fall so close to her.

"Bruno, you promised me you wouldn't be climbing into trees like some frisky squirrel. A boar of your years should have helpers doing such labor."

Before he could respond, Bruno pointed at something behind her. In the distance, a young otter kit ran towards them. The otter's calls to Tassel resonated with a note of urgency.

The winded youngster stood bowed over. His paws rested on his knees as his chest heaved like bellows in the blacksmith's shop.

"What is so important, Riverstone?"

"Mother Tassel, a unit of the Long Patrol just arrived." The otter took several deep breathes before he could continue. "The officer in charge … he said … he said he wanted you right now."

Tassel left the winded youth where he stood. Bruno raced with her to the Abbey. She knew if the Long Patrol was here for her after all this time, it meant Abbess Robertasin had summoned them. Perhaps the Mother Abbot grew tired of harboring a beast the law classified as vermin.

The Mother Abbot never hid her animosity towards Tassel. In the early years, a strained truce existed between her and the Mother Abbot. Such was the tension, that each avoided the other unless official business required otherwise. Hard feelings, however, eventually mellowed and developed into an air of mutual respect.

The sixty hares stood within the courtyard, each at attention. An officer strolled before them while the Abbess of Redwall reviewed the unit. Robertasin pointed in their direction. The hare officer turned. He marched up to them; his expression seemed so jovial Tassel decided her initial fears might be unfounded.

"Bruno, Tassel, it's been far too many years. It's so nice seeing both of you."

Neither badger said anything. The hare officer took a step back. "Come now, I know I'm older, but don't you recognize me?" He gave a deep bow. "I'm Markus, or should I say General Markus of the Long Patrol, at your service."

Tassel broke her stunned silence, her voice sounding a bit incredulous. "You have indeed changed, but then the last time we saw each other, you and your sister were quite an arrogant pair of teens."

Markus laughed as he rubbed the seat of his pants. "Aye, you two gave us many a lesson on proper manners." His voice turned more serious. "I know you're wondering what brings me here and why I sent that young tyke searching for you, so let me come right to the point. First off, I bring you word about your daughter, Serenity. She asked that I deliver this letter and extend her love and best wishes."

Tassel growled, which had the hare retreat a few paces. The letter remained in his extended paw. Bruno jumped into the lull created by his mate's reaction. His paw took the letter General Markus held.

"My wife wasn't too thrilled when our daughter joined the military because of her own status with your liege. Her objection over Serenity's choice of careers has been a bit of a sore spot between them."

"Then I hope Tassel will not object to my next piece of news. I am on extended leave from the Long Patrol and have decided that I will vacation here over the next three or four months. It's the first time I've been on leave since joining the army."

Bruno asked the obvious question. "And those soldiers?"

"As a general, I always have a unit assigned to me, wherever I go. Since I haven't officially left the military, they too will be enjoying time here at Redwall."

"Just what I need," groused Tassel, "all those hares shadowing my every move."

Markus either ignored or did not notice Tassel's tone when he grabbed her paw and pulled her along. "They know they're on unofficial holiday while stationed here, so this will be the last time they will be in uniform until we depart. After tonight, we will be under the command of Abbess Robertasin and she has asked that we disband for our duration here."

Bruno smiled. Tassel relaxed. Markus led the way back to his unit. Each hare stood at rigid attention as the General approached. He looked over his shoulder and whispered to Tassel.

"You might want to speak with the doe privates under my command. Each of them had your daughter as their drill instructor and they speak quite highly of her."

As they approached the formation, Tassel leaned closer to Bruno. She spoke in a voice intended for his ears alone.

"I have a feeling the next three months are going to be far more memorable than the last time we entertained Markus at our Abbey."


	2. Seven Years Earlier

"I told you I could find the trail without going past the rest of her pack. Now that we're here, we can follow the path to her cabin."

A second beast joined the stoat as he exited the woods. When it came to sheer power, the male wolf could best almost any other creature. He brandished his cutlass and strutted onto the path. He flexed his muscles, making a show of his physical prowess as he sheathed his blade.

"There was no need for us stalking through these woods, Nateem. From what I heard at that last tavern, the foxes inhabiting this region welcome anyone wanting to visit their witch."

"You're an addlebrained fool, Shawarran. If we sought their permission, it would mean negotiating a price with her kin. I have no intention of parting with my gold. Newly promoted officers don't have an unlimited supply of coinage."

A third beast stepped onto the path as if the others served her. The golden-furred cat stood taller than anyone else, which emphasized her haughty attitude whenever she addressed the others. Her golden eyes took in the view as she held her muzzle up, testing the wind.

"Nateem is right," she said. "We have no time to spend negotiating a price with her elders, Shawarran. Not if we intend making it back to our home country before our leave expires. Even if this witch gives us a reading today, we have but five days remaining. Considering the distance we have to cover, best we get started."

Nateem and the wolf nodded their agreement. The wildcat gave a vicious tug on the leash she held and the last member of their group came scurrying forward. The fourth beast traveled on all fours as her back held all of the group's gear. One bundle covered much of her head, effectively blinding her.

As night drew near, they came upon a log cabin. Nateem snorted and pointed to the cabin, demanding the others give him the credit for finding it. The wolf sprinted forward and with a mighty blow, pounded his fist on the door. When nobody responded, he repeated the heavy knocking. For the third time he raised his fist, ready to hammer the door.

"If the four of you expect the witch to be within, I'm sorry to disappoint you. She stands here, outside, enjoying the late winter sunlight."

The vixen leaned on her cane as she inspected her armed interlopers. She carried no weapon, yet showed no fear. Her natural fur coloring remained hidden behind the heavy vestments she wore. However, her face showed her to be a creature entering her later years as grey crept onto the fringes of her ears and muzzle. She moved onto another path.

"I prefer watching the sunset from atop this mountain, though winter means I must move faster since darkness comes sooner." She took a few steps and looked over her shoulder. "If you intend speaking with me, come."

Nateem led the others up the hill, a pace behind the vixen witch. The fox stood in the center of the field, her gaze looking out on a vista of farmlands. She stood with her back to them, displaying no fear of her armed guests.

"Every creature knows me as Melody the Miserable, seer of things that can be and those that must come to pass. Your arrival was foretold to me in a dream. That is why the trail to my home has remained unguarded. I did not want any innocent harmed when you invaded my solitude like the thieves that you are."

Nateem took several steps forward, cutting the distance between them in half. "We are not thieves and will each offer you a silver coin for your services."

When she turned, she stared into his eyes. Nateem stepped back as if she held a blade at his heart. His paw hovered over his coin pouch, frozen in place by her look.

"I intend giving all four of you a reading, more as a punishment since knowledge of the future is a curse, not a blessing," she said.

"Our slave is not here for a reading. Other than transporting our goods and transcribing your prophecies, she will not partake," replied Nateem.

"Nonetheless, she shall be given a reading or none of you will be given one." Melody's eyes reflected a determination the others recognized could not be changed by words.

The wildcat wedged the hilt of her dagger between two rocks. She then led the beast of burden so her chest rested above the blade. With a lithe bound, the wildcat jumped onto the luggage. For a moment, the beast buckled before returning to a four-paw stance. In the fading light, all could see the blood-stained blade.

"Accept our terms of three readings witch," said the wildcat, "or there will be no need to read the future of a dead beast. Decide fast, our slave has had a rough journey and I doubt she can hold my weight too long. If you need convincing, I'll jump up and down on her back."

Nateem almost laughed at Melody's reaction. The vixen's eyes widened, displaying her horror. A look at the trembling arms of the slave forced the vixen out of her shocked stance.

"You have made your point, she-devil, follow me to my cabin and come the morning, I shall give the three of you a reading. Keep your silver, such blood money I'll not touch."

Once they reached the cabin, Melody went inside and slammed the door. Nateem pointed at the door and the three creatures laughed. Then he approached the wildcat.

"That was a foolish move, Purrnella. You might have leveraged her feelings for our slave into a better deal, but if our slave died, we would lose any advantage we had."

Purrnella ignored his admonishment. She released the harness holding all their gear. A hard push toppled everything and allowed the beast below a chance at standing upright. Freed of her burden, the slave squirrel first removed the gag that had kept her silent during their long trip. She then examined the many injuries sustained during the day, including the puncture wound from the blade's tip.

"Get our tents up before I become angry," said Purrnella. "You know what will happen if I become angry." The wildcat pulled her arm back, ready to slap the slave. Her claws extended to their full range.

Nateem grabbed the wildcat's wrist. "I signed her out, not you. If she is disabled or killed, her price comes out of my pay. Give me five golds and Wobbles is all yours."

Purnella left. Nateem approached the cowering slave. "A squirrel without a tail, a sadistic wildcat, and a common history, something tells me there is a story here, but I'm too tired to ask. I suggest you not burn dinner if you intend having a restful sleep."

xxxxx

Wobbles hastened to do her work. Once the others climbed into their tents, she ate from the meager scraps remaining. A chilling wind swirled about the cabin and she wrapped herself in a thin blanket as she sought out a sheltered spot where she could rest.

Sleep almost claimed her, but a paw seized her muzzle. The vixen held her muzzle shut. With a beckoning paw, Melody led her into the cabin and offered her a hearty meal and a spot by the fireplace. Though she expected repercussions come the morning, a full belly and a warm place to sleep this bitter winter night overrode her caution.

Next morning, Purrnella's shouting woke her. "Wobbles, where are you? Get your lazy butt over here or I swear I will make you rue the day you were born."

Melody reached the door first and, standing in the doorway, blocked the entrance. "Your servant is inside; awaiting whichever one of you shall ask your question first. The rest of you must remain outside." With that, she slammed the door and crossed the room.

When the knocking began, Wobbles approached the door until Melody's voice halted her. "Let them wait. I must prepare seven goblets for what is about to pass."

At last Melody nodded to her and she unlocked door. No sooner had the latch been unhooked than the stoat barged into the cabin. Nateem swaggered to an empty chair. The vixen then directed Wobbles to fetch the cup resting on the table's far left side.

Both watched the vixen mixing several herbs in the cup. In slow motion, Melody deftly stirred the concoction while taking hold of the stoat's right paw. The vixen let loose of the cup, whipped out a knife and pricked Nateem's palm. Holding his paw over the cup, she counted the drops of blood that fell into it. With the seventh drop, she snatched the cup. "Speak your question, stoat, but know the future is never revealed with the clarity you wish."

"I seek knowledge regarding where the greatest danger to my future lies. Tell me if I can avoid it."

Melody drained the cup and began muttering an incantation. She opened her eyes, but her glazed stare showed that she saw something other than the room or its occupants. For many moments, she remained unmoving and Nateem fidgeted. Wobbles held her quill, awaiting the witch's words.

"Death shall seek you out within a circle of blood. If you enter such a place, beware the dog burning both inside and out, for his golden blade shall bring defeat when victory is within your grasp."

Melody gave herself a shake and ordered the stoat outside. Once again, she repeated the procedure with the wolf, Shawarran. Like Nateem, he too asked if the vixen could foretell where danger awaited. The vixen drank from the second cup and again she entered her trance.

"You shall hold the key to your own survival. One day you shall face a demon guarding a small treasure that is beyond worth and cannot be carried within your purse. Challenge the demon and your life shall end just as you taste victory. Retreat and you shall view waters never-ending once more."

Then the wildcat entered. Melody prepared another cup and awaited Purrnella's question. She asked for the name of the creature that would kill her if she did not kill him first. The vixen drained the cup and went into her self-induced trance.

"As a soldier, many shall challenge you, but always you shall prevail because of your superior skill. Fate has your life ending in battle because of a plaything you lost long ago. Your one chance at avoiding death will be the fear of another."

Once the vixen awoke, she ushered the wildcat outside. Standing in the doorway, she ordered Wobbles to fetch three tankards and a large wine decanter. Melody accepted the chalices and passed one to each of the three beasts standing outside. The vixen approached the wildcat first. When Melody tried filling her tankard, the wildcat placed her paw over the top.

"How do we know this wine has not been drugged like the potion inside? Better we be sure than die of some venomous concoction. Wobbles, drink."

Though she too feared the witch had poisoned the wine, she had no choice. Stoat, wolf and wildcat watched as Wobbles took a long pull at the wine bottle. She suffered no ill effects. They ordered their cups filled. Each downed their measure of wine, each smacked their lips in appreciation, and each collapsed in a heap like puppets with their strings snapped.

Melody chuckled. "Twas not the wine that was drugged, the sleeping potion coated the inside of the cups. We shall not be disturbed girl."

At the vixen's call, several male foxes emerged from the nearby woods. Even as Melody led Wobbles inside, the male foxes carried the others down the hill.

"It was foretold to me that four would come, but only three would seek counsel regarding the future. To the fourth, I was to offer a very special potion."

Wobbles protested, yet she could not resist. A lifetime as a slave conditioned her to absolute obedience and though her paws shook, she drained the beaker containing not only seven drops of her blood, but seven from the vixen. Wobbles slipped into unconsciousness.

She found herself in a nightmare realm. All about her passed colored ribbons of light in every hue imaginable. She floated in a brilliant void of colors. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and faced a nightmarish creature, a spider of incredible size.

"I am the personification of Fate. It is I that weaves the web of life, who decides the length of any skein, and the ultimate pattern that you call reality. Each colored ribbon of light is a life you or your companions had, are, or will touch." One of the spider's legs moved in a slow, deliberate pattern and all but four ribbons disappeared. At irregular spaces, lights hung like fruit on a long vine.

"May I ask what I am seeing?"

There came the sound of soft laughter within her head. "You look on the threads that are the lives of you and the three that brought you to my humble servant. The lights represent the ribbons of significant others whose future your passage shall affect. I have simplified the tapestry I weave so your mind can understand."

"Why am I here? I do not wish to know my future."

"Look at the distant pole. Do you see how the ribbons stop? At that point, each of you must determine what future shall prevail. The correct choice will take that one further, but the wrong one shall mean an ending. The others know the what and the who, but not the where. That I grant to you alone."

Without realizing what she did, Wobbles grabbed the pole. Within her mind a tableau of three stoic creatures appeared. One beast, dressed in a green robe, stood in place while flanked on the left and right by two others. The green-robed figure changed species and sex many times until it ended with the face of a black-furred squirrel with features edged in white.

The one that stood guard to the right, held a sword with a golden hilt containing a red stone. Where the central creature projected a strong will, the warrior's expression was the very definition of determination. The warrior morphed. The first one appeared as a young mouse, followed by a variety of other species. Eventually it ended, becoming another mouse, much older than the first. When that mouse disappeared, the sword hung suspended in midair.

But the creature to the left remained constant. Her features changed, but always a badger. The other two had a grim appearance, but the sow's kind expression acted like a magnet to Wobbles' weary heart. The last transformation had no head and Wobbles focused her eyes on this strangest sight. Then a vision of indescribable horror appeared and with a great shudder, Wobbles released the pole.

Wobbles opened her eyes. She found herself in a clearing with the other three. The wildcat growled at her, Purrnella's voice betrayed her irritation. Words tumbled out of her mouth like dice in a gambler's cup.

"It took longer, but the witch's sleeping potion did work on me. Like you, Lieutenant Purrnella, I don't know how I got here."

Purrnella ordered Wobbles into a four-paw stance and soon had her packed and ready for travel. As they moved out, Wobbles noticed the quiet and preoccupied manner of everyone. She knew each of them mulled over their own prophecy, wondering what secrets it held. While she answered to the pull of her master's leash, unbidden words came to Wobble's mind.

"Honor and loyalty are two different things, each with a special meaning. Embrace one and two shall die. Hold onto the other and whatever you gain shall come at a high cost. Which shall you choose?"


	3. Four Months Earlier and In Two Places

Dawn was still another hour away and those creatures within the compound slept. As a light autumn breeze moved the blanket of one beast, she shivered. That action disturbed a corner of the blanket allowing even more of the chill wind inside. She shivered a little harder and stirred.

Sleep became impossible. She flipped the blanket aside. She checked the nearby sleepers and saw everyone tucked tightly in their bedrolls, many of them snoring. With a slow motion, she stood and stretched the kinks out of her back from sleeping on the cold ground.

A flick of the wrist and she soon had her blanket lying out flat. Another moment and she had it folded and secured, awaiting transportation. She became so engrossed in this routine activity that she didn't hear the approach of another beast until he spoke.

"Mornin' Wobbles, how'd the night go?"

"No worse than expected, Sergeant. Are you here for me or did you just happen by?"

The sergeant, an old stoat with many a battle scar, shook his head. He continued leaning on his spear as he watched her stow everything. He kept his voice low, not wishing to disturb the other slaves sleeping around them.

"Just gettin' off duty an' I was takin' a short cut through the slave compound to my tent, that's all." He pointed to the bedroll. "You put some of my recruits to shame, Wobbles. Don't think any of them could do as well packin' their gear."

Wobbles shrugged. "Twenty years does that to you. I can still remember when we both were raw recruits. You looking forward to a soldier's career and me to" and here she hesitated, "a new beginning perhaps. I'm a bit surprised you never tried for officer, you got the brains for it."

The stoat spat off to the side, just missing another sleeping beast. "Them fancy-furred officers can have their titles; we all know who really commands the soldiers."

Both shared a light laugh before the stoat departed. "I'll let the gate watch know you're comin' through."

It had taken a few years learning the army's routine, but now Wobbles considered it a pleasant assignment. She remembered how her last master sold her to the military, figuring such a harsh existence a just punishment for her attempted escape. Though living conditions made life difficult at times, she worked hard and gained something of a well-earned reputation.

Now, officers requisitioning a work detail, requested her. They knew she would do whatever was necessary completing her duties in a timely manner. Over the years, she acquired more rank and moved from a mere grunt slave to the privileged rank of overseer. Now, she served only the officer corps.

Wobbles took another prolonged stretch. She then reached into her belt pouch and removed her earrings. She fastened two buttons, one white and the other gold, to each ear and flicked them, checking that her badge of rank remained secure. After a quick glance about the area, she moved towards the gate.

Back at base, slaves lived in an enclosed stockade that afforded everyone some shelter and the question of unauthorized exits seldom happened. When the army moved into the field, slaves slept in an area designated by a series of short stakes connected by rope. A slave who crossed this barrier, without permission, risked some form of punishment, which could range from a loss of privileges to a public flogging.

Wobbles strode towards the one break in the rope fence. Every slave called this opening the gate. They needed permission whenever they entered or left. As she approached, Wobbles saw the guard talking to the old Sergeant and decided she had enough time that she could pass a few pleasantries.

"Greetings Sergeant, have you heard anything about us moving on?"

"Depends on what happens when we cross swords with their soldiers. Unless this ruler has a larger force than we've been told, victory should be ours in short order. Another week or so marchin' on the capital and we should have their surrender."

The Sergeant continued his interrupted conversation. "Did you hear a rumor about the General losin' his chef in the last skirmish? Seems hard believin' a general would assign his favorite cook as a charioteer driver."

The other guard nodded. "Oh it's true. His lordship didn't take too kindly to finding his food tainted. Cookie claimed he got it from supply, but you know those guys in procurement covered their furry butts real good. Looks like our general will be going without a cooked breakfast this morning."

"Then I know what my first assignment will be," said Wobbles. "By the way, I heard we captured a large town yesterday, just east of here."

"You should know better than to listen to such rumors." said the guard. "That town was nothing but a collection of huts around some traveler's inn. Only beast killed was that fool slave chef when he drove his chariot over a weak bridge and fell into a deep pond. We took a lot of prisoners, all civilians; no glory there."

Wobbles thanked the guard for his information. She walked down the camp's central road to the prisoner's compound. The guards posted about this area noted her earrings and allowed her access. Like the slave section, everyone slept on the ground with a blanket wrapped about them. Unlike the slave's enclosure, a rope about one ankle secured each prisoner to a stake.

A glance at the body of one beast that must have slipped his or her rope off convinced the others that remaining in one spot a far smarter alternative. The grizzly body hung from atop a high bar straddling two posts. The unknown creature hung upside down, secured by two iron hooks driven through the crossbeam and piercing its ankles. At that point, the soldiers must have flayed the body with their swords, leaving the mutilated corpse hanging as a reminder to anyone considering escape.

Wobbles pulled her eyes from the gruesome sight and inspected the sleeping creatures. She walked up and down the rows of slumbering creatures until she found her quarry. _This female vole must be the fattest beast in the entire prisoner camp_. Stooping down, she grabbed the creature's muzzle and yanked it hard, startling the vole awake.

"Tell me the truth as your very life depends on it. Are you the cook for the inn our soldiers captured yesterday?" She felt the vole's head bob, Wobbles released her hold. "I am giving you a chance at something better than driving a chariot into battle later today. Depending on the generosity of your new master, he might even release you after the war, but don't expect it."

"How did you know I was a cook? I told no one."

"I have heard it said that a fat cook means a good eatery, so I looked for the fattest creature, and you're it. Now tell me your name as I have no intention of yelling 'hey vole' whenever I want your attention."

"I'm called Wiana. Now it's your turn to answer a question. Can you tell me what will happen to my two babies, Saupna and Harosa?"

"If your children were toddlers or younger, they were butchered for meat. I'm sorry, that's how it is for an army on the move." Wobbles wondered if that was a smart thing to say, but if the vole found out later, it could be trouble.

"My babies are ten and twelve years, not toddlers. Both of my girls sleep a short distance away."

Wobbles followed her pointing finger and remembered seeing many children among the captured prisoners. "They will be sold as spoils of war when we return home, unless they can prove their usefulness now."

She watched the vole's eyes and saw how she latched onto any chance at keeping her children. The vole grabbed Wobbles' wrist with an iron grip as she asked what she could do. She hesitated for a moment, letting the creature's fear build. Wobbles's hoped her expression conveyed optimism.

"If they are obedient and if they know how to serve meals, there is a chance the three of you will be kept together. For how long, I cannot promise."

When the vole claimed both daughters were obedient and excellent workers, Wobbles told the mother to fetch them. A while later, the four walked from the compound and down the dirt road. They turned left, approaching a large tent with the canvas rolled up in the front. Even in the dull glow of the morning sun, they could make out the cooking stoves lining the rear. Wobbles gave the three a quick tour, showing them where the larders were and the stacked woodpile. She showed the youngest daughter where she could draw water and had her relay filled buckets back to her mother.

Wobbles stood in place, as the mother and oldest daughter fired up the stoves. The first pot had just started boiling when three ferrets came into the tent and took a seat. One of them growled at the cook, demanding immediate service. As the mother placed the first serving into the stove, the older daughter poured hot tea for each of them. Another half-dozen soldiers entered.

She asked for one meal to be made ready. Once she had everything on the serving tray, Wobbles hefted it. Before she could leave the tent, the mother blocked her way. Though more officers filled the tent demanding immediate service, the vole did not seem concerned.

"You could have chosen anyone as helpers, Wobbles. Why choose my daughters?"

"I don't know if I can trust you, Wiana, but I am sure you will do whatever is necessary protecting those two." Her voice maintained a gruffness she didn't honestly feel.

No doubt the mother detected that false note and pressed her advantage. "You have another reason. Tell me."

"I know how devoted a mother is to her child, and I know the pain when that child is lost forever. I'll not let another suffer such a loss if I can help it."

With that, Wobbles pushed pass the vole and made for the exit. The mother tried following, but the clamoring from those seated within the officer's mess left her with two choices. The vole could follow her and maybe see the children suffer, or return to her duties and possibly keep them safe. Wiana had no real choice.

xxxxx

Threadfoot approached the building. She pulled her jacket tighter, trying to keep out the night's chill air. She hoped a brisk walk from the Warren District of Fiery Mountain would warm her; it didn't work. She thought she would be entering the training camp in daylight, but the recruiter emphasized the time she had to report, which was more than an hour before dawn. A look at the camp's clock showed she had less than a quarter hour.

As she rounded the corner, she almost bumped into a dozen hares standing apart from what had to be over a hundred does. She recognized some and passed a few pleasantries. One doe pointed across the road where a large contingent of buck hares stood. She thought about joining them until she realized how little time she had for idle talk.

A door opened and a female hare exited the building. The uniformed hare stood in front of them, holding a clipboard. For a moment, she examined the papers, ignoring the questions some of the does shouted. The hare called all the does closer.

"I'm Captain Percher. Welcome to boot camp. Form a single line and we'll get you started. It's going to be a long day. For most of you, it's the army. A few of you might, and I'll emphasize that word, might make it to the Long Patrol. Either way, every one of you is ours for the next three years."

Threadfoot joined the line as it worked its way into the building. She did no more than confirm her identity and sign a few papers she never got a chance to read before they directed her to another building. From there, it became an endless series of showers, exams and questions. She found herself running from one building to another while her empty belly rebelled.

In one building, they shaved her fur so close, she saw more skin than fur. Two medics went over her with a fine toothed comb, checking it for infestations. They gave her britches for modesty before ordering her to another in a series of buildings. She should have been cold with this little fur, but the sun warmed her. Threadfoot entered the building, stripped, and deposited her garment in a bag. Like the other inductees, she followed a line, and received new clothing. At the far end of the room, she dressed. As she exited the changing room, a bored clerk assigned her to a barracks.

She ran to the building where a buck hare waved her inside. Threadfoot raced halfway down the corridor, turned left, and dropped everything she had been given on the upper bunk. Another doe hare bumped into her hip as she dumped her stuff on the lower bunk. She extended her paw to the other hare.

"My name's Threadfoot. Looks like we're goin' to be a sharin' space here."

"Sandythorn, my name's Sandythorn. Nobody ever said it was like this, and it's only the first day. I'm beginning to wonder if I made a mistake joining this bloody army."

Threadfoot patted her bunkmate on the back. "Both my parents were in the military. Trust me, everything will work out just fine."

With a sound like thunder crashing overhead, the door at the far end of the barracks banged against the wall. A female badger strolled into the room with a defiant swagger. Her scowling expression froze everyone in place.

"My name is Sergeant Serenity. For the next six weeks, I will be your drill instructor. It is my job to turn you misfits into soldiers. Until you benighted bunnies prove you are worthy of that title, I will be your mother."

One hare snickered. In an instant, the badger hauled the doe up by her ears, forcing her onto her toes. When the doe reached up, trying to free her long ears, the badger gave a hard twist that had the girl crying. Sergeant Serenity's voice overpowered her wails as she screamed in the teen doe's ear.

"I hear you show any officer or noncom such disrespect again, I will paddle that cottontail rump 'til there's not a stitch of fur on it. Do I make myself clear?" The badger released the hare's ears. A shove of her foot sent the sobbing doe tumbling into the wall.

"Anybody else like to try their luck?"

Nobody stirred as the sow badger moved down the central aisle. Sergeant Serenity glared at a group bunched near a bunk. A step towards another doe sitting on a footlocker had that one jumping up as if the thing had morphed into a hot stove. The badger stood over this miscreant, no more than a whisker's length between them. Sergeant Serenity growled at the hare.

Five recruits nudged their nearest companion and snicker. With a speed Threadfoot never attributed to badgers, the drill instructor reversed course. She crossed the room and bowled into the group. Her paws slapped the five does until they fell into a heap cowering between two bunks, sobbing like newborn babes.

"Rule number one: When one of you is in trouble with me, all of you had better be on your best behavior." Turning to the rest of the room, she bellowed. "Do I make myself understood?"

When nobody replied, Sergeant Serenity screamed her question a second time. As the silence returned, Threadfoot called out.

"Ma'am, yes ma'am."

The young hare found herself looking into the face of an irate badger. Threadfoot focused her eyes forward on a point beyond the sow's face, maintaining what she hoped would pass for a blank expression. Her facial fur ruffled like tall grass before a strong wind. After several seconds, the badger stepped back.

"Sounds like you know something about the military, recruit."

"My parents were in ..."

Once again the sow's voice screamed out as she stood within a whisker's length of Threadfoot's nose.

"Your parents are not here. I don't give a bloody fig what your parents did or didn't do. You, recruit, are nothing but maggot meat and until I say otherwise, that will be your new name. Now gather your gear and find another bed ... Maggot."

The badger marched to the only door leading outside, trapping them inside. Sergeant Serenity ordered the recruits to find an empty bunk. For the next few moments, everyone dashed about like frogs on a hot skillet. When each hare stood by a bunk, the badger swaggered down the main aisle. She pointed to one recruit and then another. Without another word spoken, the two does gathered all their gear and exchanged bunks.

Threadfoot hoped the badger would walk past her. Instead, she stopped. The badger stared at her for several seconds without saying a word or uttering a sound. Threadfoot kept quiet. Sergeant Serenity moved down the central isle as she reassigned some of the hares to different bunks. At the far wall, she reversed course, giving each recruit a long look. When she finished her visual inspection, she blocked the only exit.

"Since this is your first day, I'm going to be nice. You have ten minutes to stow your gear and make that bunk. Starting now."

Like the other hares, Threadfoot hesitated. One hare turned towards her bunk. In seconds, the does arranged the gear they received in footlockers. She glanced towards the front of the barracks where the Sergeant stood. The badger's expression reminded her of her mother when her latest misdeed got her in big trouble.

Some inner sense warned her about this badger. The sergeant would administer a harsh thrashing, if given the slightest provocation. Threadfoot figured she already made herself a special target. Best she regained her rightful name before Maggot turned into a permanent title.

_Mother said to keep in the background, don't make any trouble, looks like I goofed again. What a way to start a military life._

xxxxx

Sergeant Serenity noticed movement beyond the door. An officer motioned her outside. She exited the building, standing where she knew nobody inside could see her. She came to rigid attention and saluted the officer.

"Well Sergeant, what do you think of this latest crop of recruits?"

"I'll have a good idea which ones are the slackers, which ones the bullies, and which ones have potential by the end of the week. My guess is that I can qualify five for the Long Patrol. I'll recommend at least one for promotion. Five look like washouts. The rest will mark their time in the regulars, blaming me for not making the Long Patrol."

The Captain stroked his chin. He nodded as he turned towards the next building. He spoke without looking at her.

"Sounds like you have everything under control. Carry on sergeant."

With that, she turned to the open doorway and sauntered back into the building.


	4. Purrnella Returns - Two Months Earlier

"If there is anything I hate about the military, it has to be traveling by water."

She held onto the railing as the raft bobbed across the waves. Her claws extended with each bounce, digging a bit deeper into the wood. She groaned when a strong breeze made the raft lurch sideways. Her tail slashed the air like a broadsword, keeping the other soldiers at a distance.

A sea rat sergeant sharing space along the railing turned her way. "Sorry, Major, I didn't know we had a wildcat on this raft. I can understand your reluctance about the river ride, but you must admit; it'll get us to camp a lot sooner than slogging through that forest."

She glanced at the sea rat, and then watched the near shoreline. "You're right, Sergeant, our journey would be longer and our paws twice as sore. I suppose it's just my aversion to water travel. I'm a foot soldier, not a bloody fish."

"Any idea what's going on, Major?"

"Like everyone else in this flotilla of rafts, we're all going to a new camp as replacements for the forces lost during the last campaign." She held up her paw and flexed her claws. "Now that was enjoyable, almost enough bloodletting to satisfy even my taste." She shook her head and turned to the Sergeant. "Sorry to say, all I know is that I'm the ranking officer, responsible for leading this force to camp. Had I been a week earlier, some newly commissioned Colonel would be in command."

The sea rat returned to his spot on the railing, leaving the officer alone. The raft journeyed downriver at a rapid pace, thanks to a strong current. As the raft passed the next bend, the town came into view. A few moments later, the raft bounced against the piling. She hastened off the raft.

"Good to have solid ground beneath one's feet."

From all directions came the sounds of bellowed commands. Soldiers formed ranks and awaited inspection by whichever officer commanded them. The overall appearance might mimic chaos, but one by one each unit took to the road in proper military fashion.

Major Purrnella did not rush. She commanded these units for the time it took marching from the river town to their base. Since they were deep within their homeland, the trek held no danger. She brushed her blouse and with a deliberate ease, shouldered her gear. She allowed a unit of sea rats to pass her and waited until she sighted the same sergeant she met on the raft. When the noncom spotted her approaching, he snapped off a quick salute.

"At ease, Sergeant, since we're all going the same way, I'll travel with you."

The sergeant trailed his unit with the Major shadowing his every move. They continued marching along, the sergeant checking his unit and growling his orders while she scanned the other companies. After several moments, the sergeant spoke, though he never faced her.

"Begging your pardon, Major, shouldn't you be up front?"

"For all I know, this will be our one and only meeting. Why should I ruin a ten league march issuing orders that you're carrying out? It wouldn't make sense."

The sergeant nodded. "You're pretty smart for an officer, Major. It makes no sense at all trying to impress somebody at base when we're not going anywhere soon. With winter fast approaching, everyone will settle down until spring."

The rest of the forced march passed without incident, and by early afternoon they topped a ridge. A sprawling tent city filled the valley below her. As each unit passed the gate, they were met by an officer who directed them to their bivouac area.

Major Purrnella walked to the hut of the camp's commander. At first, she thought the place deserted. She announced her presence. An elderly mole came around a row of file cabinets, carrying a clipboard. His brown garb appeared neat, but it was the uniform of a slave. A white and gold disk attached to his ears, designated the male mole as a slave assigned to an officer of high rank. Though she hated demeaning herself to a lowly slave, she could discern no other option.

"Major Purrnella Slyclaw, reporting for duty." Her eyes focused on a spot above the head of the mole as she handed her orders to the slave.

The mole retrieved his spectacles from the desk and gave her papers a cursory inspection. He approached a closed door. He gave a firm knock before he entered the room. Another five minutes passed before the mole emerged, moving somewhat faster than he did when she first spotted him. The mole retreated to his desk where he wrote furiously. Purrnella approached the room the slave exited.

"No need for that, Major. The General has ordered me to give you directions to your quarters. You will be briefed later regarding your duties."

It galled her to accept instructions from a lowly slave, but she did not comment, though her exposed claws were a clear sign of her agitation. Once beyond the Commander's office, she stormed down the appropriate road, kicking at any visible rock she passed. After reaching her assigned quarters, she dropped her gear on a bunk.

The sight of the mess tent across the muddy road reminded her that she had eaten nothing since dawn. The idea of a hot meal appealed to her. For a moment, she wavered between the task of arranging her gear and the prospect of some good food.

"This can wait until later," she muttered.

She no sooner entered the mess tent when she recognized two close friends. The first was a stoat Colonel that had risen in the ranks due to his ferocity in battle. Across the table sat a grey wolf wearing the insignia of a Brigadier General. She remembered his ingenuity in battle back when they shared the rank of lieutenant. They must have seen her too as they made space for her and waved her over to them.

"Nateem, I see the High Command finally came to its senses and made you a Colonel. And you, Shawarran, you're a Brigadier? When did that happen?"

The wolf leaned back and smiled at her. "The ink on our promotions hasn't even dried yet, that's how new our rank is. It's also the reason why all of us are here. When we move out of this camp, I will be commanding the Fourth Infantry, Fourth Paw, a unit that will number around ten thousand soldiers and a quarter as many support slaves."

The stoat, Nateem, patted the seat next to him. "Shawarran tells me that he got first crack at selecting the officers he wants since his unit is so new. Our General figures that a new unit needs experienced officers, which is why you're here. Perhaps your luck will be better under the command of a friend."

Purrnella plopped down hard on the seat. "Luck had nothing to do with my rank, unless you mean bad luck. I was denied that promotion to Colonel by my last commander because he hated wildcats."

"Don't you mean because you were too cruel and heavy-pawed to those you conquered?" Brigadier Shawarran's look dared her to contradict him. "The story I hear is that you butchered half a village because somebody threw a rotten egg at one of your soldiers."

Purrnella gave a menacing laugh. "My commander thought I overreacted. Well, it pacified the town. That fool of a ferret wanted me to coddle the natives; play nice was how he worded it."

The wolf's expression never changed. "More like you intimidated them into submission. The villagers were smart and never openly rebelled, but they resented our presence. Thanks to you, we never got any peace, or the cooperation we needed from that region."

Shawarran held up his paw when she tried to reply, effectively silencing her. "The truth is no commander wants you, Major Purrnella. Your excessively cruel streak and iron-fist mentality have cost us too many opportunities at gaining the trust of our former enemies or the confidence of allies. As a friend, I will assign you some duty within my command, but you had better believe this next campaign may well be your last if you don't measure up."

Whatever tension remained between her and the wolf disappeared when Nateem chuckled. She turned towards Nateem and he pointed to the back entrance of the tent. What she saw had her claws sliding out of their sheaths. Perhaps this assignment offered her some opportunities beyond that of inflicting pain on her enemies.

"Talk about a reunion. Isn't that the same slave your family sold to the army some twenty years ago? She's also the one we took to see the witch right after we received our officer's commission."

All three officers turned as one towards the back. There, to the side of the back tent flap and talking to the vole cook, stood a tall grey female squirrel. In her ears there were two gold disks, designating her as a slave taskmaster. She moved inside the tent, checking on the dozen slaves operating the kitchen and serving meals.

Major Purrnella enjoyed the squirrel's reaction when she noticed them. The squirrel's paw traced the scar that ran across her chest. She took a step backwards. Purrnella pointed at her and then at her cup, hoping she would miss the message. She had a few ideas about how entertaining a squirrel would be while hovering above a low fire.

The slave squirrel filled a tray with a selection of different foods and secured a pitcher. She hustled to their table. The squirrel placed the food between the three and greeted each by rank as she filled their cups with the hot cider.

"It's been a few years, hasn't it, Wobbles?"

The slave acknowledged her name with a smile and nodded. "It has indeed, Brigadier. Last time we were together we visited that witch. When we got back to base, the fortunes of war sent us in different directions."

"You're wearing the double gold of a grand overlord. Which slave unit are you commanding?"

"My new designation is quiet new, less than a week. As to which unit, I've been assigned to yours, Brigadier."

"Your efficiency is well known; I'll expect your best. By the way, Major Purrnella, told us she knew several interesting stories about your past, including the one about how a squirrel lost her bushy tail."

"I'm sure the Major has told you everything you wanted to know, Brigadier."

"Nonetheless, I'd like to hear your version of the tale." The inadvertent pun made Brigadier Shawarran laugh.

She knew Wobbles couldn't refuse such a direct order. The stoat and the wolf remained attentive while she continued eating. Purrnella offered a word of advice before the story started.

"See that you tell the truth, Wobbles. I might have been a five-year-old tabby, but I remember what happened, even from so long ago."

"No threats are necessary, Major. It's a simple story. I was being transported to my new home when our ship was beached for repairs. My escape attempt failed and my son died when he fell into quicksand. After I was recaptured, I received a flogging, but that wasn't the end of my punishment. Every morning the Captain commanding the vessel would ask if they sighted land. Each time the lookout responded no, he carved one bone off the end of my tail. Good fortune smiled on me as a strong wind saved the little I have left."

"Go on," growled Purrnella, "finish the story."

"Your father wasn't too pleased as he thought he had been given an obedient slave and I proved rebellious. He sold me that very day to the army. When the procurement officer came, I lurched about like a drunken sailor. Between the loss of my tail and me spending so much time at sea tied to the fantail railing, my sense of balance wasn't what it should have been. His comment about me wobbling down the gangplank gave me my army name."

Both stoat and wolf broke out in gales of laughter. "How about that? We got a bonus story about your name," retorted the wolf.

"You're right, Purrnella," said Nateem, "it wasn't worth the effort hearing."

xxxxx

Purrnella waved her away and Wobbles made a hasty retreat to the kitchen area. Once she moved out of their sight, she leaned against the woodpile and tried calming her racing heart. After all this time, those memories flashed in her mind as if it happened twenty minutes ago and not those twenty years.

She remembered the sea rat sawing another bone off her tail each morning. Wobbles recalled the searing heat from the hot dagger he used to cauterize the wound and shuddered. Such memories were painful, but there was still one thing that made reliving that time worth the suffering. It remained her most closely guarded secret.

Wobbles knew her son did not die. She lied when she told the sea rat he drowned in quicksand. Her last sight of him was when she passed the tree where he hid. After all these years, she believed in her heart of hearts that her son still lived.


	5. A Pack of Troubles

Once the meal ended, Major Purrnella excused herself, claiming she had to unpack her gear. Her two companions wished her well as she left the mess tent. She made her way across the muddy road. As she approached her new quarters, she froze. There in the tent, an intruder rifled through her gear. A quick step put her inside the tent and behind the intruder. She slammed the tent's canvas door.

A young male mouse stood next to her cot. The fellow had placed her spare uniform onto a hanger and paused next to an upright storage locker. Even from where Major Purrnella stood, she could see her other uniforms already hanging in proper order. The slave first hung her uniform, and then came to attention, just as his training dictated.

Like the soldiers, slaves in an army wore uniforms and had rank designations. A boss slave wore two white disks and commanded grunts or served low ranking officers. Overseers had one gold and one white disk, and served a specific high ranking officer, with authority over the boss slaves.

This slave wore but one white disk, which designated him as a low ranking grunt. She considered his assignment to her nothing more than an insult. Overseers served high ranking officers, since they had some authority over other slaves. Such a deliberate slight infuriated her. She needed something, or someone, as a target for her anger.

"Just what in Hellsgate are you doing? Who gave you permission to disturb my gear?"

Her sharp voice made the slave jump almost a foot off the ground. The young mouse gave an audible gulp as he stepped forward. His downcast eyes and meek voice marked him as one that knew his place, but her anger needed a target.

"I was ordered to unpack your gear, Major. I was also told to provide whatever assistance you needed while the grand overseer found a suitable servant."

So far, Major Purrnella suffered the indignity of addressing one slave as an equal. Then her new commander, somebody she thought a good friend, reamed her for actions she considered an appropriate response to a rebellious populace. Since she didn't know who assigned her a grunt, the young mouse became the very embodiment for every slight she suffered.

She stormed across the tent's floor and raked the youth's head with her unsheathed claws. The mouse howled in pain and tried retreating. That this slave even tried avoiding her claws infuriated her even more. Purrnella kept her claws sheathed as she batted the mouse about the floor, making sure she inflicted as much pain while blocking his every attempt at escape. At one point, the mouse crawled under a cot, no doubt hoping to avoid another roundhouse punch aimed at his ribs.

When Purrnella lifted the cot, the mouse youth darted between her legs. He jumped upright, which toppled her. As the slave dashed for the door, Purrnella scrambled back to her paws. Her claws extended by reflex, but missed him as he cleared the doorway. Such was the slave's panic that he did not see the officer before him. Two strong paws clamped onto his shoulders.

"Nice catch, Brigadier," said Purrnella. "I demand this slave be punished, and that I have the honor of administering whatever I deem an appropriate beating."

Brigadier Shawarran maintained his grip on the injured slave. After giving the mouse a cursory look, he turned to the Major and asked for an explanation. Her initial charge had the mouse ready to speak in his own defense. The wolf's claws dug into his shoulders.

"I have not given you permission to speak, slave," said the Brigadier.

She then charged the slave with striking her, which carried a severe penalty. The mouse remained quiet while the wolf said nothing. The Brigadier summoned two soldiers standing near the officer's mess tent.

"Take this slave to the Infirmary and see that his injuries are treated. Have him relieved of all assigned duties for today and tomorrow, on my authority. See that our commander is aware of this incident and that I recommended no punishment."

Purrnella stood there, eyes wide, consumed by her anger. Her objections never got voiced as the wolf motioned her inside the tent. With the two of them in relative privacy, Shawarran dropped all pretense of friendship.

"You have a reputation for being an obnoxious beast with a cruel streak wider than the ocean. Unfortunately, I see it's well earned, if not understated. Knowing you're that abusive with army property, I don't believe I can trust you. My initial intention was giving you command of a front-line combat unit. After this display, Captain, I have changed my mind. Instead, I will have you placed in a support capacity where others can keep a tight rein on your abrasive tendencies."

"My rank is Major," she snarled.

"Not anymore." He silenced her with an upraised paw. "Yes, it's your option to protest your demotion, but if you do, every charge that I had quashed from your last duty post will become public knowledge. When the military tribunal is convened, you'll be lucky to maintain your status as an officer. Need I say more . . . Captain?"

Purrnella couldn't say anything without jeopardizing what was left of her military career. She kept silent. No matter how angry she felt, she knew her former friend had the power and the authority to make good on his threats. The two continued a staring contest until she lowered her eyes. The Brigadier then turned and exited the tent. Once the wolf left her tent, she vented her anger by pummeling the metal storage locker containing her uniforms.

xxxxx

Nateem waited outside until the wolf joined him. The two walked down the road as they proceeded to the General's command center. They continued for several moments before Nateem broke the awkward silence, hoping a change of subjects would allow the Brigadier time to assume a calmer demeanor.

"Any idea what the General wants of us? I mean, who would be foolhardy enough to start a military campaign with winter but another month away? Personally, I'm hoping the rumors of us bivouacking along the southern coastline are true. I know a few places down there where the females know how to entertain a soldier in proper fashion."

"Our General is far too ambitious. That ermine is looking for a position with the High Command, maybe even something higher."

That made Nateem hesitate a step and he had to double his pace. When he drew next to the wolf, Brigadier Shawarran continued his conversation like it had never been interrupted.

"Last time I checked, you don't get such a command assignment occupying a rear echelon sector. You get it by grabbing glory in a bold and heroic campaign."

They had no further opportunity speculating as they had reached the General's office. The general's slave greeted them and led them into another building. There, a tall ermine stood, his winter coat just starting to claim dominance over his usual dark brown pelt. He positioned himself at the far end of a huge table that remained under cover. On both sides of the table, others sat in attentive anticipation.

Colonel Nateem noted the various insignias belonging to units under General Zavallin's command. He watched with some interest the jockeying for position as officers displaced lower ranked members to the far end of the table. He also noticed the presence of two large sea rats that displayed the rank insignias of Fleet Admiral.

Brigadier Shawarran nudged him. "So much for that rumored easy duty station, Colonel. You don't need two flag officers commanding a flotilla of rafts. You can bet the General has something much bigger planned."

General Zavallin called the meeting to order. There was an awkward silence as the mole slave entered the office and handed the General a piece of paper. Once the slave departed, the General turned the meeting over to a lady ferret standing behind a podium. When all conversations ceased, she ordered the cloth removed from the table.

A large-scale map of an unknown landmass filled the table. As everyone tried taking in the scene, the ferret passed several folders down the table. Each officer kept the bundle with their name and passed the rest to the next officer in line. When the officers opened their folder, she gave a sharp bark. Everyone refocused their eyes on her.

"What you're looking at, is a land mass approximately half our empire's size. To date, this place has no official name, as the creatures living there are as diverse as they are divided. The only unified ruling body is along the northern coast, running from Point Clisler to Icy Inlet, and even that can be considered a misnomer. They rule a quarter of the land in a loose alliance called, The Council of Ruling Nobles, led by a badger named King Brisson."

Another ferret raised her paw and asked a question about their military. He asked her if she knew why this Council of Ruling Nobles had not extended their authority further inland.

"Initially, they formed a military alliance against a common enemy. When peace returned, each ruler maintained his or her political power base. In essence, they have been united in name only. If there is a need to use military force, the particular kingdom uses its own army. They might request aid from others, but such requests seem driven by politics rather than sound military judgment. Since the time of their initial unification, they have never acted as a united force."

From his seat, the General spoke to the silent room. "I intend to initiate an invasion of this land mass with the return of spring. That gives everyone sixteen weeks preparation time and another two weeks before the actual invasion. Once we can conquer this Northern Alliance, the rest of the island continent will fall."

When silence returned to the room, the lady ferret continued her briefing. "The folders you have contain whatever information you need for completing your primary assignment. Over the next ten days, prepare a battle plan for your objective. We will meet here at that time to discuss them and to coordinate our campaign."

With that, the officers dispersed. Outside, Colonel Nateem waited for the Brigadier to inform him of their assignment. Brigadier Shawarran opened the file and then snorted. Nateem thought the wolf's expression appeared displeased. His monologue turned into a fine example of vulgarity at its finest.

"Our assignment couldn't be that bad," said Nateem.

The wolf handed the packet to him and continued back to his quarters, cursing under his breathe. Nateem came to a standstill while reading the folder. When he finished, he raced after the Brigadier.

"Talk about your rotten luck, Brigadier. We drew the tertiary support role of capturing and expanding the port of Ferretville. In this upcoming campaign, we become nothing more than a garrison force. Our primary duty will be protecting the engineers responsible for expanding the port's facilities. While the rest of the army is fighting in the north, we're stuck in the south, twiddling our thumbs."

Brigadier Shararran pounded his right fist into the palm of his left paw. His voice remained so low Nateem had trouble hearing the words. However, the wolf's tone told him all he needed to know. He didn't like their assignment.

"Brigadier, we do become the lynchpin in the second phase of our conquest. Without the port of Ferretville, there will be no means for conquering the southern half of that continent. Perhaps General Zavallin will offer us a more worthy objective at that time."

"Once this Council of Ruling Nobles falls, the rest of our war will be nothing more than a mopping operation. There will be no glory in conquering simple farm hamlets scattered about the region. Such tasks are for the greenest units, those yet to taste blood."

"I see what you mean about ambitious plans," said Nateem. "General Zavallin must expect this victory to give him land and possibly a nobleman's title. Perhaps he perceives this crusade as a chance of toppling our king or becoming a ruler of his own realm. No doubt those officers that excel during this campaign will be granted titles and land holdings commensurate with their conquests."

The silence stretched out as they rounded the last turn in the road and Brigadier Shawarran entered his hut. Nateem caught the door before the wolf could slam it in his face.

"Too bad we have such a poor assignment, Brigadier. Without a chance at glory, all we can expect is a few extra gold coins in our purse when this campaign is completed."

The wolf stared out his window while he continued pounding his right fist into the palm of his left paw. When he stopped, he leaned on the desk, staring at the documents awaiting his attention. Nateem stood by the door uncertain as to if he should enter or leave. When Brigadier Shawarran lifted his head, Nateem found himself staring into the eyes of warrior ready for battle.

"I'm not going to sit on my furry backside while some other whelp takes what I earned. I've served in this army long enough that I deserve a lot better than they're offering me. If I get a chance at grabbing the gold for myself, I'll take it."

Colonel Nateem took the chair closest to the desk. Once again, he opened the folder containing their assignment. He waited until the wolf sat behind his desk.

"We have a battle to plan; best we get started."


	6. Dormitory Dawn

A comforting darkness surrounded her. Tassel snuggled deeper under the blanket that kept the bed warm and the room's chill away from her. She took a deep breath and rested somewhere between deep sleep and full alertness.

To her left came a deep rumbling sound. She turned in that direction, detecting the presence of her mate, who still slept. When the sound ended, she strained her hearing, trying to sense any other sound. His snoring resumed its rhythmic pattern.

Her mate, Bruno, acquired the title of Pa Badger when they became a couple. She enjoyed her role as Badgermom, but he embraced his with enthusiasm. The children gravitated to him like bees to honey. On some nights the two of them would crawl into bed and in the morning, several of her youngest charges emerged after spending the night cuddled with her mate.

If she awoke during the night, Tassel would slip into the Dibbun Dormitory, checking up on the ten children they supervised. Most times, she stalked the corridor and discovered nothing amiss. On those nights when a child had troubles sleeping, she found him awake and wanting to know what disturbed the child's rest. Whenever she discovered a sick child, some innate sense alerted him and they did what needed to be done.

To her right, Tassel listened to the steady tick of the mantle clock. Her fingers reached out to the night table and fumbled with her goggles. Since her deformed muzzle didn't allow her the option of wearing spectacles, the beast that ground the lenses mounted them in a pair of goggles. She stared at the clock and noted the time.

"May as well get up," she muttered. "The alarm will be sounding in another ten minutes."

She swung her feet over the side. The room's chill air dispelled the last vestiges of sleep. At that moment, a deep growl came from the sleeping form of her mate. Without looking, she reached back and kneaded a spot above his tail. The growl intensified, and then he shifted his position. Blessed silence returned.

Tassel padded quietly to the door that separated their quarters from the Dibbun Dormitory and gave a quick glance into the children's sleeping area. Her eyes saw no movement and her ears detected only the sound of many young beasts slumbering. She turned away and walked down a short corridor, entering her private washroom.

Bruno insisted on a mirror. A quick glance at her reflection explained her objection. Even though the years dulled the marks, her disfigured face could still induced nightmares. She did not need a mirror to see the marks that branded her a criminal in the minds of woodlanders. Tassel knew some elders living at the Abbey never missed an opportunity at calling her vermin, even after so many years.

Her dress slipped on with ease since she needed no vent for a tail. She lost that as a child, docked by her master's healer for a visiting dignitary. On cold nights like this, she swore the missing appendage had never been removed. Tassel could feel it wag with such vigor it hurt.

A pair of stirrup stockings, a matching pair of fingerless gloves, and the marks that branded her a criminal disappeared from sight. She removed her goggles long enough to put on the form-fitting cloth mask she wore, which hid her disfigured features. Once she had her goggles on, she stepped outside the room.

She bumped into her mate, who stood outside the room. Like every morning, he kissed her once on each cheek, and once on her forehead. He then slipped past her and entered the washroom. Tassel remained close to the door, this way they could keep any conversation private.

"It was a quiet night, Bruno. The celebration tuckered them all out and they slept soundly. Think it did the same to me as I slept the whole night too."

"Celebrating the end of winter is a big event at Redwall. It means we can look forward to another year of planting and improving weather."

"Every season festival is a big event. We party late into the night and then drag through the next day. I tell you, I'm not the young and energetic creature you married twenty-five years ago."

The soft sound of Bruno's laughter echoed from the other room. "Tassel, you're not getting old. If you were, I would have to admit to aging too, and I'm not ready for the title of honored elder just yet."

Tassel said nothing, knowing such a title would always elude her. That broke the rhythm of their conversation. The door opened; just enough that Bruno could stick his sopping wet head out. His expression showed his concern about Tassel's sudden silence.

"Something is bothering you." Bruno's wet paw reached out and held her muzzle closed. "No, I don't want to hear any excuses. After all these years, I can read you like a scribe's diary. Out with it, sow."

"Age, it's my age." Tassel kept her muzzle down as she whispered her reply. "I hate admitting it, but those youngsters are running me ragged. Most elders our age will care for grandchildren for a day or two. We have ten dibbuns full of youthful energy every day. I love them, but I worry that our Abbess will replace me. If she has no further use for me, will she turn me over to the Law? Even after so many years, she could do it. I wouldn't last a month in a penal colony, not at my age."

Bruno reached out and pulled her head closer. A gentle kiss did nothing to change her mood. He ducked back inside and for several moments, silence hung in the air. Bruno exited the washroom and placed his paws on her shoulders, giving his mate a firm squeeze.

"We're getting rid of our little beasties for the next three weeks. It will be just the two of us, Tassel. I think what you need is a vacation away from every responsibility. So as soon as those young charges have stepped beyond the gate, we are going to have some fun." Bruno's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps we can take some long walks along the battlements late at night, a leisurely stroll through the orchard, or you can practice your music. It's been a long time since I heard you play your flute."

Once more Tassel's eyes appraised her mate. Bruno still sported the vibrant, characteristic coloration of his species, though the ravages of time left their mark. What had been a brilliant white now had a yellowing, antique look to it. Grey intruded wherever black had been. Even the flag on his tail certified to his advancing years as it appeared somewhat ragged instead of full and lustrous.

That had her think about her own appearance. Over the years, her fur had taken on a dull, uniform, grayish color. No longer did she possess the distinctive black and white markings of a badger in its prime, which had many a newcomer to the Abbey inquire about her species. She felt every year of her life weigh on her.

Bruno embraced her. In his powerful arms she felt safe and his loving voice made her feel desirable. She never wanted him to let go. He nibbled on an ear and she leaned into him. Bruno's words shattered the illusion that they stood there alone.

"As much as I would love to stay right here, I do believe we should wake the children."

Tassel followed Bruno to the doorway between their quarters and the Dibbun Dormitory. They leaned on the half door that separated their living space and gazed down the long corridor. Tassel couldn't see the children sleeping due to privacy curtains, but she did hear their steady breathing.

"It seems a shame waking them up."

Bruno chuckled. "Liar, I do believe you enjoy watching their reactions each morning."

Tassel returned the gentle rub her mate gave her back by patting his broad chest. She then opened the door and latched it against the back wall. Bruno cranked the ceiling window shades open as Tassel seized the handle of a large wooden mallet. With a swift motion, she struck the sounding board next to the door. Three times the room filled with a hollow boom that put thunder to shame.

Badgermom Tassel yelled at the top of her voice. "It's time to wake up. Everyone, get out of bed."

She got the reaction she desired on the very first swing of her hammer. Several children darted out of their beds, racing for the washroom as if some demonic hellhound nipped at their heels. Others moved in a slow, but deliberate manner, but at least they moved. One mouse lad slept at the far end of the room, but Tassel still heard him muttering about the noise. It made her giggle as he pushed the blanket to the side.

Bruno pointed to one bed still occupied. With the snap of his wrist, he threw the blankets off the pillow. A pair of furry feet rested on the pillow, the toes wiggling. Bruno grabbed both feet in his paw and yanked the child out of her bed. With a deep growl, he held the child up until her toes were at his eye level. He added a snarl to his voice as he spoke.

"Alright girl, wake up." With a light tap, he batted the girl's feet. "I am not going to be fooled into believing you're still asleep. Now open those eyes or I'll slap you silly."

A young mole hung just above the bed, giggling. "I'm down here, Pa Badger."

Bruno shifted his eyes from the child's toes to her head. His eyes almost doubled in size and his deep inhale gave him the appearance that he was surprised. He released the girl and she tumbled onto the mattress. "Well how was I supposed to know that wasn't your head?"

Tassel fought the urge to laugh. Bridgett and her mate, went through this routine at least once a week. Instead, she focused on the day's chores. She cleared her throat, which caught the attention of those still in the main room.

"If you are not wearing it, or packing it, all garments are to be placed in the appropriate hamper. All beds are to be stripped and the bed linens dumped in one pile. I also want every privacy curtain taken down and put next to the bedding in a separate pile."

Badgermom Tassel had just finished giving her instructions when she shrieked. Those children still in the room gave a quick look and then returned to what they were doing. One child giggled while the older ones shook their heads, a smirk engraved on their faces. Even Bruno had no reaction to his mate's unexpected outburst.

As for Tassel, her reaction was not so calm. She spun about on her heels and pounded on the chest of the intruder that stood behind her. Her light blows left the fellow laughing rather than moaning. Her victim did nothing to stop her assault.

"Thorn, how many times have I told you not to scare your mother like that? I swear you'll be the death of me yet."

The male badger, which looked like a younger version of Bruno, trapped her flaying fists in his paws. "You must be getting old, mother. I don't remember anyone being able to enter or leave this place without you knowing about it."

"Don't change the subject, Thorn. I swear, you might be a respected elder, but I will do my level best to put you over my knees and let you know just how upset I am."

Thorn gave his mother a light peck on her masked muzzle as he scanned the room. He moved from bed to bed, collecting the children's backpacks, while passing a few pleasantries with his father and some of the children. The three badgers stood about until the children finished their chores.

After a quick inspection, Tassel led everyone down the stairs and into Cavern Hole, the Abbey's communal dining hall. The children kept quiet until they occupied their usual table. As the children took their seats, they discussed the upcoming special event with such enthusiasm that the three badgers were left to discuss adult topics undisturbed.

Badgermom Tassel quizzed her son, who sat to her left. "And how much gold do you intend to take?"

"I don't need too much, mother. Serenity, offered us free housing since the military base will be closed during the six-day holiday. We'll take a ten minute walk, join the other families at the Inn they rented, and after another short hike, we will be at the festival. I might even hire a few goat carts and we can ride in style."

"Thorn, my sources tell me you're taking well over a dozen extra children that cannot afford attending such an event. How much silver will you be giving them each day?"

Thorn stared at his mother. "Seventeen isn't what I would call well over a dozen, mother. Anyway, I intend giving each child two silvers each day of the Spring Festival. It will be enough to keep them entertained."

Those closest to the head of the table heard a low growl from Tassel, which signaled her displeasure. "You must be out of your mind. Two silvers will keep them well fed, but it will never allow any of them admittance to the better shows and activities."

"How would you know? You've never been outside these walls."

Bruno's fist struck the table, tipping his empty mug and spilling the dregs onto the table. "That was completely uncalled for, son. Need I remind you that I took everyone to the festival when it last came to Salamanderstorn six years back? Your mother and I talked all night about the cost of the premium attractions."

Thorn stared at his empty plate. He muttered an apology. Tassel patted her mate's arm while her other paw dug into the pocket of her dress. The cloth bag jingled with sound of coins when she dropped it on the table. She pushed the purse closer to Thorn.

"I have enough from the sale of my craft works that you could afford giving each child eight silvers a day." Thorn made to protest, but Tassel gave a low snarl that silenced his protests. "Use your money to hire those goat carts for the length of your stay. When you add my money, there should be enough to give everyone three or four silvers each day. That way, they can all enjoy some of the better activities. Make it a week they'll never forget. As you said, since I cannot leave this Abbey, money means nothing to me."

Their youngest charge, Bridgette, asked if she could go outside. In quick order the fidgeting dibbuns raced outside. There, Thorn had a cart waiting, piled with supplies and the backpacks of some thirty other creatures. Tethered goats pranced in place. Parents and young gathered by the Abbey's front door as they waited for Thorn.

Those parents remaining at Redwall gave their children a final hug and kiss. The children Thorn promised to watch gathered about his cart. Many parents smiled as their offspring milled about the young badger, eager at starting this trip. After giving his mother a hug and shaking his father's paw, Thorn followed the crowd to the Abbey's main gate.

The children waved and shouted their goodbyes. Those traveling with their elders drew closer to them. Already, half the caravan had passed the inner gate.

Bruno called out to the departing children. "You better hurry, you're…."

All of Tassel's youngsters chorused Pa Badger's favorite saying, "wasting daylight."


	7. First Time Alone

Bruno grabbed her wrist. He pulled her along, joining the many other elders racing towards one of the towers on either side of the gate. At the top of the stairway, she ran with Bruno from the inner wall to the outer one.

In that short span of time, the travelers covered a respectable distance. The travelers avoided the east-west trail since it led away from their eventual destination and trekked across a wide meadow. Even now, the vanguard crested the distant hill. If all went as planned, they would intersect the northern road to FieryMountain by nightfall. After another five days, they would reach the military base where their daughter, Serenity, had arranged lodging. A good night's sleep and all would be in attendance when the festival opened.

For now, Tassel's only thought was to wave. She could see the travelers waving back, but couldn't tell if any of the children were hers or that of the family standing next to her. It didn't matter. This would be their last sight of each other until they returned in twenty days. Tassel's stomach churned as she worried about her young charges being beyond her protection. She continued waving until the last beast crested the hill. She remained at her post, like all the other parents, staring at the vacant field.

"I do believe, sow, this is the first time since we mated that there hasn't been at least one child needing your attention." Bruno gave her a mischievous grin and a hug. "What are you going to do with yourself for these next three weeks?"

"Husband, this is the first time since I became Badgermom that no child needed me. It's an experience I've never had. As to what I will do, I want to know when you intend checking on the larger orchard outside the wall. This winter's snowfall proved quite heavy. I don't want my vacation causing us to lose a fair size of our future harvest. What will the other elders say?"

Bruno's left paw fluttered as if he were shooing an annoying fly. "I'm not going to waste this opportunity, Tassel. Let the trees take care of themselves for another day or two. As of right now, we are on vacation."

Bruno bowed to her and held out his paw. Tassel placed her gloved paw into his and the two descended the stairs to the battlement that ran along the outer wall. As they stepped outside the tower, a light breeze swirled about them. For a moment, the chilly air had them huddle together. Each looked into the eyes of the other. A huge grin came to Bruno's face as he led her along the wide walkway.

Tassel nodded a greeting to those on guard duty. The sentries did no more than return her nod, though she noticed their smiles. She could guess why. The way Bruno held her paw and acted, she knew they looked more like first-time lovers courting than a mated pair. In spite of their longevity together, her heart race each time he squeezed her paw or gazed into her eyes.

Along the west side, she stopped. Tassel gazed over the forest that still had not recovered from the harsh winter that ended with the last full moon. The morning sun warmed her back as she enjoyed the view. Bruno nudged her. When she turned in his direction, he first faced her and then looked downward. He repeated the motion, and she stepped away from the wall. She wondered where he wanted them to go.

They descended the steps and strolled to the end of a wooden dock that extended over the pond. Bruno kicked off his sandals and sat at the very edge. He patted the space next to him. She followed his example and soon had her bare feet dipping into the icy water. The two conversed in whispers as they sat. Sometimes one or both kicked their paws through the water like children on a holiday, the sound of their laughter echoing across the water.

Time continued its march. All too soon the tower clock chimed the dinner hour. Tassel stood. Bruno joined her as they made their way to the Abbey. She anticipated a reserved quiet with the dibbuns gone. Cavern Hole proved to be just as noisy without so many youngsters, though the topics focused on things other than school or chores.

Bruno pointed at several occupied tables. Each time she balked. He frowned whenever she pointed at an isolated table or one near a darkened corner. They stood near the center of the huge dinning area, alone in a crowd of eaters. Tassel pointed towards a table near the exit.

"We always sat further up, where the light is strongest."

"We had the children then" retorted Tassel. "I am sure the others prefer I not join them. I don't want my presence to cause any troubles."

A deep scowl creased Bruno's brow as his anger rose at her reluctance. "You use those orphans as an excuse, sow. It's time you start meeting the other elders of this Abbey. You'll find they are a lot friendlier than you imagined."

Another voice interrupted their conversation. "Indeed you will, and I'll be the first one inviting you to my table."

Tassel turned towards the voice. She knew her mask hid her surprise when she recognized the imposing figure that spoke. The squirrel stood a few hairs higher than Tassel and wore the green habit of Redwall's leader. Abbess Robertasin's fur may have been midnight black in her youth as a shepherdess, but over the many intervening years, it had lightened. Her fur now resembled the hour after sunset. The bony ridges along her face showed an edging of white fur attesting to her advanced years. Even her fingers and the very tip of her bushy tail now showed the same aged color.

"Without your young charges, Tassel, I can extend an honor long overdue."

The Mother Abbot hooked her paw onto Tassel's elbow and guided her along. As they approached the head table, Tassel remembered how the throne-like chair reserved for the Abbess had migrated from the center to the far right several years back. Every resident knew the milky film that dulled the emerald-green of her right eye would one day blind her.

Now the seat of honor was to the Abbess's immediate left. Robertasin steered a reluctant Tassel to that seat. Bruno took the seat next to her. Bruno turned away from her, striking up a conversation with Healer Shortspike and the Abbey's warrior, Jazzin, who shared the head table. Tassel felt a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected attention.

Something touched her foot. Tassel glanced towards her mate. He stared at her and then at the Mother Abbot. She wondered if he understood the gravity of his command. When something hit her foot a second time, she got the less than subtle hint her mate sent her.

Tassel turned to the Abbess, her food untouched. "Don't you worry about extending such hospitality to somebody the law declared vermin? Is it proper for my jailer to share such amenities with her prisoner?"

A forkful of salad hovered halfway between plate and mouth as the Abbess stared at her. Robertasin returned to her meal, but the squirrel's smile had disappeared. The silence grew as the squirrel chewed. When her fork clacked back on the table, the Mother Abbot addressed her guest with a voice tinged with disappointment. Such an unexpected tone had her listening, yet fearing what she might say.

"Is that how you still see Redwall, as your prison? Do you believe you have no place in this Abbey?" The Abbess gave a low snort. "You have served as Redwall's Badgermom for more than forty years. This is an honor you have earned."

"Nonetheless, Abbess, my past condemns me, even now."

Robertasin's expression lost its pleasant smile. "Perhaps it's time I tell you that every year, on my anniversary date, I submit a letter asking for your release. If I asked the residents, I'll stake my reputation on their support for such a petition. I have forgiven you, it's time the law did the same."

Tassel stared at the Mother Abbot, too shocked for words. Bruno's elbow nudged her and she returned to her meal. Each of them would turn to the other, but neither one could think of a topic to discuss. When the silence became pronounced, they concentrated on the next course of their meal.

Kitchen workers scurried to the table, whisking dirty dishes to the back room. Even the cook's announcement regarding dessert got no reaction from her. Robertasin leaned back, enjoying her cider drink. The squirrel's glazed stare let Tassel know the Mother Abbot remained unaware of the awkward silence at the head table.

Abbess Robertasin's next action caught her off guard. She stood. The Abbess took her empty mug and banged it on the tabletop like a pewter gavel. Conversation within Cavern Hole came to a slow end as the residents turned to the head table. Kitchen workers abandoned their sinks and stoves, congregating at the doorway.

"To every beast that calls Redwall home, over these many years, our Badgermom has served this Abbey with honor and distinction. In all that time, she has never asked for anything because she thought herself unworthy of our respect. Now I am asking if you will join me and sign a petition for her clemency. After all these years of faithful service, I think she has earned her freedom."

The Abbess placed her paw on Tassel's shoulder. There was total silence within the room when Robertasin concluded her announcement. Two tables back, a male mole stood and clapped. By ones and twos, many of the other elders of Redwall joined in the applause. Several residents, including a few she thought still held her past crimes against her displayed their approval.

From one table, a male hare rose and moved to the  
aisle. General Markus of the Long Patrol approached the head table. As a representative of the King's law, Tassel feared the hare would remind all of her crimes. Her heart raced as she waited for him to condemn her once more.

"Let me know when you send that petition and I will add my own personal letter of recommendation. If she can turn a troubled teen like me into a general of the greatest fighting force ever known, then she deserves my support."

His words caught Tassel by surprise. She jumped out of her seat, knocking the chair onto its side. Tassel bolted to the doorway.

xxxxx

"Was it something I said," the hare asked.

"She must be overwhelmed, or in a state of shock," said Bruno.

Markus turned around and gave a sharp whistle. Every hare within the place came to rigid attention. The hares abandoned their seats and moved forward, but Markus stopped them when he raised his arm.

"I want everyone paired up, find Tassel. When you locate her, report to me. Bruno, shall we see where that wife of yours has run off to?"

Bruno gave a quick bow to the Mother Abbot and excused himself. He joined Markus. The hare pointed to the door she used but a few seconds earlier. Bruno led the way, jogging through the main building to the Abbey's front door. Once beyond the building, Bruno found nightfall turned every shadow into a hiding place. At least Markus had the foresight to procure a lantern before he left the Abbey.

After twenty-five years of hunting down reluctant, or missing, children, Bruno thought he knew every hiding place within Redwall. Each time he examined another possible location, he expected to find his mate. Even with the assistance of the other hares, none could find her. The night grew darker and still no sign of Tassel.

Markus approached him, his expression reflecting worry. "Several of my hares checked out the root cellars, they said no beast has disturbed the dust. I know we asked the sentries at the gate, but could she be so distraught that she somehow got outside?"

Bruno considered that idea. "Her fear of your king will keep her within the Abbey. Somehow, she has managed to elude us. Let's call off the search until daylight."

By ones and twos, the other hares returned to the Abbey. Each reported no sign of the female badger. Some of them confirmed what they already knew; Tassel had not left the Abbey's grounds. The last hare relayed a request to the guards atop the wall, asking them to remain alert in case she did appear. A few offered to join the guards, just as a precaution. Markus dismissed them.

Bruno thanked Markus as they separated with a promise of resuming the search come morning. With leaden paws, Bruno climbed the stairs and opened the door to their private quarters. A sixth-sense drew him to the doorway between their place and the vacant dormitory. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he discerned the shadowy form that he recognized as his wife.

Without his sandals, Bruno's footsteps remained quiet. He listened as he heard her light sobbing. Tassel ran her paw across the footboard of an empty bed, muttering the names of dibbuns, past and present. When Bruno touched his mate, she reacted as if a hot poker had lanced her. Even in the darkness, he saw the tears that matted the fur on her exposed face.

"There were so many in this place, and yet my mind fixates on the ones I lost. Common sense tells me an act of nature or an illness is beyond my control, but it doesn't diminish the hurt or the feeling of failure. I remember all those that went on to better things, and yet my mind will not grant me any peace or happiness."

Bruno sat on one bed frame. His mate sat on another empty bunk, facing him. Tassel's paws flew up and out before slapping together as she tried trapping them between her knees. She rocked back and forth, moaning as if in physical pain. He kept quiet; knowing that eventually she must reveal what bothered her.

Tassel finally broke the silence. "Do you remember the days before we married? We talked about so much then. I explained my duties and how I intended caring for these children." Her voice reflected disgust and loathing, something he never expected. "I talked of everything but what you needed to know about me, and you never once asked about my past."

It took some effort catching her paws, but he did. Bruno held her paws and knelt before her. His voice remained no higher than a whisper as he tried reaching the heart of his distraught mate. Tears rolled down his muzzle, matching those of his wife. He ached to relieve the gut-wrenching pain still gnawing within her.

"I loved you too much, Tassel. When you said never ask of the before time, I took that oath seriously. But don't think I haven't heard about your past over these many years." There came a low, rumbling laugh as an old memory surfaced. "Remember the time I took our two pups to Brocktree? The female badgers there told me things they hoped would disgust me, but I chose you, Tassel, as my mate and I returned here. I will always stand with you."

Tassel's whole body shook, her abject misery apparent to him. Bruno sat by his wife, his arms enfolding her. He kissed her scarred face and the tears flowed even heavier. He nibbled on her ear and the delightful giggle he always expected, and enjoyed, never came. He lifted Tassel and carried her in his arms. The two went to their bedroom and he took her as a husband does a wife. In such a loving embrace, Tassel found the solace she sought.


	8. Troubled Dreams

Something heavy landed on his chest. Bruno scanned the dark bedroom, looking for the assailant that disturbed his sleep. A kick to his back alerted him to the source of his discomfort. Tassel shifted on the bed, moaning. Her elbow dug deep into his side. He grabbed her shoulder and gave a hard shake.

"Wake up, Tassel, you're having another bad dream."

Tassel bolted upright, panting. A few seconds later, her sleepy voice spoke, even as she dug deeper under the covers.

"Not to worry, Bruno. I'm sure its nothing."

"Enough, sow, I have had enough of your evasive answers. I blame myself for letting this go as far as it has, but you will tell me what is troubling you. No more excuses."

Tassel's eyes widened, no doubt surprised by his tone of voice. He could sense her measuring his irritation, deciding if she could again evade his inquisition. Bruno tried calming himself, as he strived to be the voice of reason.

"Whenever one of our little ones has a nightmare, you always tell them it holds power over you because you will not tell. Must I use those words on you?"

He never expected her reaction. She wrapped her paws about him, holding on as if she expected him to vanish. His body shook in time with hers. He whispered his love, all his anger forgotten. He rocked her with a gentle motion, like he did with one of their young charges when they needed comforting. He held her head against his shoulder until she finished crying.

"Husband, I fear my words must be made known to the Abbess as well." Bruno opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Tassel silenced him by placing the palm of her paw against his nose. "How I know this, I cannot explain, but this nightly horror involves her too."

Now he understood her reluctance. Before Robertasin became Redwall's leader, she left no doubt about her contempt and dislike of Tassel. Once their children were born, and Tassel recovered her health, Robertasin spoke such horrible things that Tassel feared for her safety. Over time, the Mother Abbot's demeanor altered as she proved several days earlier when she spoke on Tassel's behalf.

Bruno led Tassel to the Mother Abbot's office. Like a frightened child, Tassel would not release his paw. Bruno felt Tassel squeeze his paw harder the closer they came to their destination. He whispered his encouragement to her and that seemed to give her the courage she sought.

A lady vole sat at a desk near a closed door at the end of a hallway. The vole glanced their way. Without asking their business, the vole approached the door that led to the inner office and the Mother Abbot. She gave a light knock and a sharp but muted voice responded. The vole entered the office and closed the door, leaving them outside waiting.

xxxxx

Robertasin sat at her desk, reviewing the many documents requiring her attention. She sometimes wondered if she was the Mother Abbot or a glorified clerk. She looked up from another series of letters that seemed to flood her desk. The intrusion of her secretary came as a welcomed diversion.

"Is there somebody I need to see, Lilly," ask Robertasin.

She watched the old vole. When Lilly pushed her glasses up her muzzle, she knew it had to be a resident. After so many years in her service, Robertasin knew her mannerisms and learned a lot about her potential visitor before they entered her office. Based on the way Lilly kept shifting from one foot to another, she had better talk to whichever resident stood on the other side of the door.

Lilly nodded. "Our Badgermom and her mate are waiting outside, should I send them in or ask them to come back at a later time, Mother Abbot?"

If Lilly addressed her by her title, she thought it important enough to interrupt whatever business held her attention. Abbess Robertasin trusted her intuition. She pushed her chair away from her desk.

"I'm sure I can spare the time. To be honest, I'm surprised they waited so long. You can send them in, we shouldn't be too long."

Lilly brushed her dress as if her spotless garment had a stray piece of lint, a habit she displayed whenever she approved of Robertasin's decision. The vole pivoted on one foot and left the office. There passed a moment of silence before the door opened for a second time. The vole remained at the door until the two badgers crossed the threshold. Lilly gave her an inquisitive look, but Robertasin said nothing. Lilly retreated to the outer office, closing the door.

Light from the late winter sun filtered through the window behind the Abbess, giving the room soft, but sufficient illumination. Both walls had ceiling-high bookcases filled with the diaries of Redwall's prior rulers. In front of the huge desk, Bruno had his choice of a wide sofa or one of two chairs.

Bruno helped Tassel sit at one end of the sofa while he took the opposite side. At no time did he release her paw. Though she couldn't read Tassel's expression due to her mask, Robertasin worried when Bruno's eyes avoided any direct contact with her.

As Mother Abbot, she decided to put them both at ease right away. She bounced out of her chair and circled the desk. Robertasin sat on the front edge, as close as she could to her guests. She reached behind her and held up several sheets of paper. Robertasin continued waving them until certain she had both badger's undivided attention.

"I can guess what's brought you two here. After four days, you're looking for news about that petition. I'm happy to report almost every resident signed it. Maybe this time, King Brisson, will grant you clemency."

Instead of a joyful look from Bruno or even a raised muzzle from the masked badger, the two visitors continued staring at the floor like chastised dibbuns. That worried her.

"I give you good news and the two of you act like I did something horrible. Please, if there is anything bothering you, let me know. I'm here to help."

Bruno raised his muzzle, but did not meet her eyes. "My wife has experienced the same nightmare over the last four nights. She insists you hear her story."

Robertasin still had some coaxing to do. A few more words of encouragement from her and Bruno had Tassel recounting her nightmare in detail. She gave the sow her full attention.

"A great storm has descended upon Redwall and I fear the children will be frightened. When I enter the Dormitory, nobody is there. I rush back outside, and when I reach the end of the corridor, I find myself atop the rain-lashed battlement of some high tower. In the storm, the lightning flashes across the darkest sky ever known, and I see faces, the face of every child I nurtured."

For just a moment, Tassel lifted her masked muzzle and gazed deep into the eyes of the Abbess. "After every child I know is shown, I see one more child. As that face appears, another bolt strikes the tower and it is destroyed. I fall, seeing the Sword of Martin fly towards me like an arrow. Before it pierces my breast, I awaken."

Robertasin and Bruno remained silent for several moments. Then the Abbess stood and paced from her desk to the window and back. She made several circuits before she once again returned to a position just before the Badgermom. She lifted Tassel's muzzle. The two stared into each other's eyes.

"When first I became Abbess, we were enemies. In time, I learned of your value and dedication to this Abbey. You even inspired me to adopt Narkade a year after your pups were born. Raising him taught me just how much good you have done."

Abbess Robertasin gave the Badgermom a gentle squeeze to her masked muzzle. "I do hope you now see me as somebody that supports you. Perhaps I should have apologized for my ill manners so many years ago, but pride stopped me. I'll not ask for your friendship, but I will tell you I take seriously the message you bring me."

Bruno shifted in his seat. "Would you know the meaning of these words?"

"I'm afraid not, Bruno, but I will think long and hard on this. I'll let you know if your assistance is needed."

As the two badgers left, Lilly hesitated by the door. Robertasin wandered over to the window behind her desk. Without looking back, she addressed her receptionist.

"See that I am not disturbed, Lilly."

For several moments, the Mother Abbot gazed outside her window to the courtyard, her mind a blank slate. Many of the most monumental events in Abbey history came after a dream. Some unknown force compelled Tassel to talk to her. She couldn't dismiss this without careful thought.

Like a flash of lightning, an old memory surfaced. She turned towards one of the high bookcases. She withdrew the diary from her first year as Mother Abbot. It took but a moment to find the relevant passage and she read the words from a dream she thought forgotten so long ago, "_When war comes, and it will one day_." Robertasin yelled for her receptionist.

"Lilly, find Healer Shortspike, our cellar hog Tabeston, the warrior Jazzin, and General Markus. Once they arrive, see that nobody disturbs us, for any reason whatsoever."

Something in her voice must have frightened Lilly. The vole departed so fast she forgot to close the door. While she waited, Robertasin's mind compared the two dreams and their messages. It made her stomach churn. After a glance at the shepherd's crook, for the first time ever, Robertasin wished she had never left her sheep.

Healer Shortspike arrived first and the Abbess reviewed her biography. The female hedgehog started out as an orphan under the care of the prior Badgermom, as well as Tassel. She later traveled to a badger clan where she finished her training as a healer. Since her return to the Abbey, Healer Shortspike maintained a vigorous program designed to maintain the health of every creature. Though many complained, several times her advice prevented the spread of diseases that, left untreated, would have resulted in many unnecessary deaths.

A soft knock preceded the next beast. In his youth, Tabeston contradicted the stereotypical male hedgehog. Unfortunately, his job as Cellar Hog had him sampling every food stored within the larders of Redwall. Now, Tabeston displayed quite an ample girth.

The two tapped foreheads in typical hedgehog fashion before he shook paws with Robertasin. When Tabeston sat, the sofa's springs twanged in protest. He slouched on the sofa as if he thought he could catch a quick nap.

The mouse warrior, Jazzin, and the hare, Markus, entered the office together. Even in the chilly air, the two were bathed in a heavy sheen of sweat. Both carried practice swords sheathed about their waist and bearing heavy padding. The two argued in a friendly, but heated manner, about which of them had scored the last kill. Neither of them noticed the room's other occupants waving their paws before their snouts.

Robertasin retreated to the window. She opened one of the panes closest to her head, allowing the chilled air inside. The slight breeze kept the musky body odor of the two warriors away from her nose. At least she wasn't gagging from the stench of the sweat-soaked padding they wore.

"Shame on both of you," snarled Shortspike. "At your age, Jazzin, you should have more sense than to fight some beast almost half your age." She then turned on the laughing hare. "As for you, Markus, you should know better than working up such a heavy sweat outside during the winter. I swear, if I see either of you in my Infirmary with a cold or fever, I'll give you so strong a purge, it'll take three meals before your stomach even knows you ate."

While the healer admonished the two warriors, Robertasin returned to her desk. Before either warrior could retort, she rapped her knuckles on the wooden desk, like a teacher trying to catch her student's attention. It worked in the classroom, and it worked here.

Robertasin pointed to the Cellar Hog. "Tabeston, I want a full inventory of everything within this Abbey, be it food or some other material under your control."

"But Mother Abbot," whined the hedgehog. "You get an inventory of what we stored and used every month. I'm sure the actual count wouldn't be that far off."

"Oh yes, I have seen your reports. 'A little over three barrels of flour delivered from the grist mill, several dozen eggs discarded as rotten.' They will not do, sir. I want to know, by the gram, and by the count, exactly how much of everything there is within Redwall, and you have three days to do it."

Tabeston shifted his position. The hedgehog pushed his glasses off the tip of his nose and against his head. When he stood, every spring sounded a note of relief.

"Three days? How am I going to accomplish all that in three days?"

"I don't care if you and your whole crew have to work around the clock, nonstop. You will have those numbers for me, at the end of the third day or I will find somebody else competent enough to do your job. That deadline isn't being pushed back because you're standing here catching flies. I strongly urge you to leave now while you still hold the coveted title of Cellar Hog."

Tabeston hustled from the room, the slamming door attesting to his rapid exodus. The Healer bolted from her seat. Shortspike stormed over to the desk as if she meant to do physical battle with her. The hedgehog's finger snapped out like a whip aimed at Robertasin's snout.

"I don't care if you are the Abbess; you have no right addressing an honored elder in that manner or in that tone of voice. Why I have half a mind to …."

"Your next words had better be something like 'do a full inventory of the Infirmary.' Have a full count of every medical supply and a list, by priority, of whatever else you require no later than tomorrow's final bell."

Shortspike blurted "You gave Tabeston three days, why am I getting less than half that time?"

Robertasin stood to her full height, her back straight. Her tail puffed out in a visible display of her agitation that anyone would dare challenge her authority. Now it was her turn to wag a finger within a whisker's length of the Healer's nose.

"You have but one small part of this Abbey to account for. Are you telling me you cannot have such a list ready?"

Shortspike's quills remained in an upright position. "I'll have it done, but I do want some allowance if there's a medical emergency. You and your bloody list can go to Hellsgate if it means compromising my services." With that, the hedgehog stomped out of the office. The female hedgehog slammed the door so hard that Robertasin's shepherd's crook fell off the wall.

The Abbess now focused her attention onto the two warriors before her. She continued staring at them until their smiles disappeared. The Abbess returned to her seat. She beckoned them closer and dropped her voice to a near whisper.

"I am giving the two of you whatever authority you need. Requisition as much additional help as necessary, take anything you want. I expect, no, I demand, immediate results. If we are fortunate, we may have more time, but I cannot guarantee that, so have this Abbey ready to withstand an extended siege within five days."

Markus broke the stunned silence that followed this pronouncement. His ears flickered, a sure sign of his distress. "Mother Abbot, do you have any idea who will be placing the Abbey under siege?"

The Abbess leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Neither of the two warriors spoke as they awaited her answer.

"Gentlemen, Redwall is already at war. The only pertinent question is how ready we will be when the enemy is knocking at our gates."


	9. The Army and Politics

Every hare entering the military went through boot camp in an area that encompassed both banks of a river and a large island. The bucks camped on one side of the river, while the does occupied the opposite bank. When the sexes got together during training sessions on the island, the drill instructors had to keep a firm reign on the youths.

Should an amorous buck decide that flexing his pecks would attract the female's attention, he paid a high price for his folly. The drill instructor would have his entire unit doing calisthenics on a dusty field while wearing full gear. Let some doe bat an eye at a buck, and every lady in her unit crawled through enough muck to discourage any further romantic thoughts. By the third week of training, the recruits got the message. It was safer listening to their instructor than trying to make points with the opposite sex.

Sergeant Serenity led fifty female recruits as they marched in formation towards the bridge connecting the barracks with the training field. She stepped off the paved access road, watching as each hare passed. Two weeks of training remained and her teenaged misfits moved like a single, well-coordinated unit. When she thought back to that first day, it seemed a monumental achievement for this group of inept teenaged hares.

Recruit Sandythorn, now dubbed "Boo-boo," wore the blue armband that designated her as the first group's leader. This doe had the misfortune of being the clumsiest hare she ever met, garnishing more cuts and scrapes than the rest of the barrack's brats put together. When she asked if the hare wanted her boo-boos kissed, the nickname stuck. Now Serenity believed she had leadership potential. Come the end of training, she would recommend the hare for promotion.

The second platoon followed Threadfoot. Perhaps her family's military background helped, but this doe displayed a fighting spirit second to none. Many of the female hares thought it a joke after Sergeant Serenity nicknamed the hare Maggot. However, the doe's versatility handling any weapon became a reference to the fate of those she faced in their battle drills. Serenity expected her to qualify for the elite Long Patrol once the doe passed basic training.

Sergeant Serenity increased her pace as she marched to the fore. From her vantage point at the front, she checked each file and saw the perfect spacing of a well-trained unit moving as one. She bellowed her command. Like a single entity, the unit wheeled onto the road leading to the practice fields. They came to a halt once they passed under an arch at the outskirts of the area.

"Recruits, fall out and draw reed swords. I want you mustered around Circle Nine in five minutes."

Other than the nearby sign that labeled the area as Circle Nine, nothing made this practice field special. It spanned twenty paces in diameter, just like the other fields. Her recruits formed a rough circle along the perimeter of the area, each holding a short sword made of dry marsh reeds. She stood at the very center of the ring, awaiting the arrival of her young charges, a reed sword dangling from her paw.

"I have some good news for you bunny beauty queens. At the end of this week, you will have the privilege of defending your unit's reputation in a series of duels with your male counterparts across the river." Serenity paused, gauging their reaction. "For the sake of this unit's honor, you will not disappoint your comrades. For the sake of your furry bottoms, you will not disappoint me."

She didn't joke when it came to such threats. She remembered when her unit competed against the three other female units on the obstacle course. They may have won the overall event, but the five recruits who finished last learned the hard way how far they could march with a full pack. Only one, Sandythorn, returned from that forced march. The remaining four joined the other washouts discharged as unfit for military service.

Last week, she repeated the same threat when her unit faced the males on the obstacle course. This time, they took the honors in every event. The recruits had a good laugh when the buck hares from the last place unit were forced to run a gauntlet of willow switches. The does pursued the hapless male hares back to their camp across the river, switching any that moved too slowly.

"Maggot, enter the circle. You get the opportunity of taking me on again."

When Threadfoot entered the circle, she noticed the doe's broad smile. Two days ago, the recruit won the best of three matches against her. Since then, the other recruits promoted the doe to godhood. The hare almost swaggered as she stepped into the circle.

"Come on, Maggot, whip that badger," several does yelled

"Give that fat sow a couple o' good whacks for the rest us," screamed a few more hares.

Over the many catcalls, Serenity issued her instructions. "Recruit Maggot, this is a single duel to the death. Unless one of us scores a killing blow, any contact is to be ignored. On my mark, begin."

Both combatants circled each other, searching for an opening. The hare lunged and she evaded. Jeering whistles erupted all around the circle. She initiated a series of thrusts and slashes that had the hare backpedaling and the recruits groaning. The hare counterattacked, forcing her back. Every recruit shouted their encouragement.

Threadfoot tried a double paw chop that she blocked with her sword. The two came into contact and before they separated, Serenity made her move. She reached behind the recruit and grabbed the hare's tail. Serenity gave it a hard yank.

The doe hare dropped her reed sword and placed her paws on her hips. "Hey, Sergeant, that's not fair. Since when do you fight dirty?"

Serenity's reed sword struck the doe hard in her stomach. She continued pummeling her. Battered and sore, the doe fell to the ground, bawling. Sergeant Serenity planted one of her feet on each upper arm of the whimpering doe, pinning her to the ground. The hare pounded her paws into the unyielding clay as she struggled to free herself.

Serenity lifted the hare's head by her ears, stretching Threadfoot's neck, which had the hare screaming in agony. She drew her reed sword across the throat of the doe. Serenity expressed her disgust by giving the doe a hard kick to her posterior. She grabbed the recruit by her cotton-balled tail and the scruff of her neck. With a mighty heave, Serenity sent Maggot sprawling beyond the circle of shocked and silent recruits.

None of her recruits moved from the circle's rim. All remained quiet, many with their jaws hanging open. She let the silence continue for a short time as she took her place at the very center of the training area.

"Rule nine: When fighting for your life, all that counts is winning. I just demonstrated the tail yank. Next, I will demonstrate the elbow to the temple and the knee in the breadbasket. By the time you meet those bucks, you will have mastered a dozen dirty tricks and will know how to counter every one of them.

"Remember, the soldier writing a report about a gallant enemy lived. His opponent never got a chance at telling his side of the story because he's dead. Now let me give you a word of advice. If any of you feel hesitant using these tricks, be aware, the bucks are learning the same moves and they may not be as reluctant."

Once she demonstrated how the three dirty tricks were done and how to counter them, the recruits partnered with another hare. As the first two combatants entered the circle, she noticed the approach of two hares. Sergeant Serenity saluted the officer, wondering why another drill instructor accompanied him.

"Sergeant Serenity, you are relieved of all duties until further notice. Pack your gear and report immediately to the Commandant."

It seemed hard to believe, but the officer had dismissed her. All the way back to camp and while packing her gear, Serenity replayed every moment in agonizing detail. She tried to determine where she had crossed the line between harsh instructor to insensitive brute. With a double-march step, she approached the Commandant's office door and knocked. Given leave to enter, she moved before the desk and came to rigid attention.

From behind her, she heard a deep male voice. "Is this the one you're recommending?"

Commandant Darlow addressed the unknown male as if she didn't exist. "If there's any soldier that can do what you want, it's Serenity. She knows how the Long Patrol hares are trained, her recruits consistently win the highest honors, and her unit has the best esprit de corps of any training unit."

The unknown male voice sounded unimpressed by the Commandant's praise. "You have eight other instructors here, and I have another six names that have better qualifications than her."

Commandant Darlow flipped a file open, placing it at the forward edge of her desk. Serenity couldn't see the contents, but did see her name atop the folder.

"This might only be the Sergeant's tenth class, but she has the highest number of recruits making it into the Long Patrol, and every candidate for officer training has proven to be exceptional."

"Others have more service time in rank and have been training recruits for a lot longer."

"All I ask is that you speak with her, my liege, and decide for yourself."

The term "my liege" had an immediate affect on her. She pivoted on her left foot, turned, and gazed upon the badger sitting in a chair behind her. She dropped to her right knee, right paw clenched in a fist, held rigid to her breast. Serenity bowed until her back became parallel with the floor as military protocol required.

King Brisson, Lord of Salamanderstorn, and ruler of the Northern Alliance, did not acknowledge her salute. Instead, he rose and walked over to the Commandant and relieved her of the file. Serenity watched him dismiss Darlow and his two hare bodyguards with a simple wave of his paw. The boar badger read the material as if no other beast occupied the room.

Sergeant Serenity peeked at the imposing male badger. Though a few years older than her father, this boar maintained his lustrous coat and distinctive fur markings. He stood at least a full head taller. She wondered how so broad a shouldered boar entered the room without turning sideways.

"We are alone now. Please take a seat and speak with me as an equal. Naturally, I expect everything said between us to remain strictly confidential."

"My liege," seeing the ridges on the boar's forehead knit, she reworded her greeting. "Lord Brisson, how may I serve you?"

King Brisson pointed to a chair while he continued reading the file. Without taking his eyes off the folder, he opened his conversation with a question that seemed out of place.

"Tell me, do you know what the biggest problem is with the Long Patrol?"

Serenity's stammering voice displayed her evident confusion. Her mind tried grasping at every rumored shortcoming, but couldn't imagine which could have caught the king's attention. She decided the fastest way to learn what problem brought him to her was to defend their honor.

"The Long Patrol is the finest fighting force ever assembled. Every hare is the best of the best. They have no equal when it comes to the battlefield."

King Brisson laughed. "And that, my dear sow, is the problem. I rule a loose union of some twenty-five realms, each with their own military force. They resented the hares and their fighting skills when my father first formed this alliance some fifty years back. I'm sad to report they still do."

"If you're aware of the problem, why not have creatures other than hares, become part of the Long Patrol?"

"It sounds like such a simple resolution. The root problem is politics. Integrating other species into the Long Patrol will lose me the support of the hares who consider it their exclusive domain. Such a move could leave me without an army. I would then be equal to some court jester."

"Politics doesn't concern me, Lord Brisson. All I want to do is train the best fighters and make them even better."

The boar badger rose and walked to the window. The room remained quiet as the ruler of the realm stared at the scenery beyond the window, his back to her.

"I'll be blunt; I need you, Serenity, because you have no political connections or ambitions. Redwall's singular independence means no one ruler gains status over the others when I give you this honor. I can place you in command and no noble will protest."

Sergeant Serenity's voice showed the deference of one who respected the position and the responsibilities of the creature she addressed.

"Placing a sergeant in charge of such an elite unit means those under me would number no more than one or two dozen. If you're motivated by politics, doing something like this has to be perceived as an insult. Whatever unit you form needs sufficient numbers that other species have a viable opportunity at promotion."

King Brisson turned around and sat on the window sill. "I'm granting you the rank of Captain for the duration of this assignment. When the camp finishes with this current batch of hare recruits, you will have unlimited use of the camp. Each region's ruler is sending an elite unit here for what I called special training. Your mission is to integrate them into a cohesive unit. I expect this new unit operational come spring."

xxxxx

For over an hour, they discussed various issues regarding the formation of the new division. When they finished, the King had his newest Captain wait within the Commandant's office. As he left, three hares jumped to attention. The king motioned to Colonel Darlow, indicating his desire that they should walk outside. His two bodyguards followed at a discrete distance.

"I do believe you were right in recommending her, Colonel. Unlike all the other candidates, she has extensive knowledge of other species on a personal level. She will mold those divergent qualities into a force worthy of matching our best hare warriors."

Colonel Darlow nodded as she kept pace with her king. "Living under the Badgermom means living with many different species. Serenity knows more about handling other species than she realizes because of that intimate contact. She can relate to them better than any hare on that list of yours, my liege. I spent two years under her mother's care and learned the hard way that other species deserve our respect. Something too many hares never learned or seriously considered."

King Brisson chuckled. "Perhaps you can tell me more about those days at a later time, Colonel. For now, I would appreciate it if you and your staff extend all the assistance you can to Captain Serenity, as she has a difficult task before her. It means no winter vacation, but this is far more important than you can imagine."

"You need only command, my liege, and it will be done."


	10. Today in Ferretville

Chitter leaned onto the crossbar, his harness tightening around his shoulders. He maintained his steady pace, knowing he covered more ground if he didn't overexert himself. Around the next bend, the sign he expected appeared, telling him how far he was from his destination.

A dozen paces beyond the sign, the hard-packed earth turned into a stone road. He evaded the many work crews repairing the thoroughfare after a hard winter by keeping close to the middle of the road. His pace increased thanks to the smooth surface and the downhill gradient.

An hour later, he approached the town's outskirts. He diverted course to circle the buildings since that route remained less traveled at this hour of the day. It took time traveling through a congested area and he wanted to rest before the market opened. On the far side of the town, he turned down a familiar street.

A series of miniature fortresses lined each side of the wide lane. Armed sentries patrolled the walls, each wearing the colors of their particular employer. Guards at the gate stood straighter as he made his way pass them. A few even waved, hoping to catch his attention.

The first two fortresses remained shut, though the placard by the gate announced they were open and accepting new business. The guards at the next fortress motioned him to keep moving, which he did. He continued down the avenue. At the sixth fortress, the sign by the gate displayed a familiar stripped color scheme. He made for its entrance, passing a pair of armed sentries who made no move to stop him.

Once he entered the fortress, he turned left. Chitter passed a small cottage, taking no notice of the ferret that entered the building. He came to a long building, which had a series of open bays. The first four he found occupied and barred by a closed gate. The fifth one stood empty.

He maneuvered the cart into the stall, stopping when the crossbar reached the far wall. Chitter removed his harness and grabbed the wooden chocks resting against the wall. Just as he braced the wheel, he heard a familiar voice call him by name.

Three ferrets approached. The one in the middle wore the attire of a wealthy aristocrat and carried no weapon. The other two looked like the kind of beast best avoided if you intended living. They moved to flank him. One held his sword at the ready while the other rested his paw on his axe. Chitter glanced at the horizontal crosswalk halfway up the wall where another armed sentry kept watch. The guard's crossbow rested on his shoulder, but his eyes watched him.

His paw stayed away from his sword. He reached into his shirt pocket and tossed the copper coin he placed there earlier. The dapper ferret caught it in midair and placed it in his pocket. The two guards retreated. They moved behind the aristocratic ferret and sheathed their weapons.

"Chitter, my word, I expected you a lot sooner. It's been four months since last you visited our fair city. I do hope that full cart does not mean you intend robbing honest merchants of their last copper."

"As tight-fisted as this town's merchants are, Draedin? I'll be lucky if I get enough money to replace these worn sandals, let alone show any profit."

The ferret pulled a white kerchief from his sleeve and waved it in the air. The two guards standing next to him withdrew and the third one continued patrolling the catwalk. The aristocratic ferret extended his paw and Chitter shook it.

"Let's conclude our business in my office like civilized beasts. Your merchandise is safe at my warehouse."

They walked back to the first building he saw when he entered the property. As they passed the occupied bays, he noticed the empty wagons. He counted the days he traveled on his fingers. Something was wrong, and he had to know.

"I thought the open air market was held every seven days. If my count is correct, it opens tomorrow. Those empty wagons worry me. Did I miss it?"

"Your count is correct. Those wagons belong to merchants here to buy, though I think they might be disappointed by the meager selection. Most of the local farmers lost their crops due to a harsh winter. Those still trading reported an increase in banditry and are reluctant about traveling beyond their homesteads. Rumor has it somebody struck a place west of here and left nothing behind but the bodies of the landowner and his family. Our Peace Enforcers said the farm reminded them of a field after an infestation of hungry locusts."

"That might explain the resistance I ran into while camping near one of the outlying farms. I swear that stoat intended having me mounted on his pitchfork. He didn't start talking like a reasonable fellow until he had me unarmed and treed. Never apologized, just ordered me off his land."

While they chatted, Draedin filled out the billing for his service. Chitter dropped the required coins on the counter and took his receipt. Their business finished, Chitter reached for the doorknob. However, the ferret called him back to his counter.

"If you don't mind a bit of friendly advice, I suggest you visit the bathhouse before making any sales pitch. The stench is most offensive."

"Has the town decided to beautify the place by burning that hovel of yours to the ground? Between ticks in the bedding and watered-down soup, I decided I must've fallen asleep at the local prison."

"Best you not tell my mate such things. We can joke here, but that is one fiery ferret I married. Last fool that made a disparaging comment about her boarding house got run out of town. I tell you, seeing a lady badger running down the street screaming in fear, while my mate pursued her with a rolling pin sure provided some welcomed entertainment. Of course, bailing her out of jail proved expensive."

Chitter shouldered his travel pack and left the warehouse. He walked five blocks down and three more to his right before spotting his destination. A large hanging sign swung from a chain above the wooden sidewalk proclaiming the place as "The Exotic Nesting Nook." The building stood four stories high and with the exception of the port's fortification, dwarfed every nearby building.

As he approached, Draedin's mate rushed outside. She barred his approach. _How did she know I was coming? I just arrive._ Her sour expression let him know he had no chance at entering her establishment without first using the bathhouse. After an exchange of coins, Chitter relinquished all but one set of garments, knowing that everything would be cleaned and pressed within the hour and waiting for him in his room.

It took time filling the tub with enough hot water so Chitter could enjoy a good soak. He no sooner immersed himself when the door opened and a younger and smaller version of Draedin walked inside. The young ferret placed several towels within easy reach and handed him a cake of soap and a bottle of dipping solvent.

Chitter relaxed in the hot water, enjoying the sensation. Without opening his eyes, he spoke to his young attendant. "The candied chestnuts are in my backpack, upper left pocket, on the flap." He listened to the child rifle through the pocket and his excited squeal upon finding the candy. "So Tranasey, what's your pleasure?"

"I missed your last trip here because my auntie broke her leg and needed help with the farm. Please, sir, tell me all about where you come from?"

"I am nothing more than a humble merchant, living with my expectant wife, Highclimber. My home is a place of squirrels and otters, with the squirrels living in treetop drays and the otters occupying a communal hut built from logs by a wide stream. They fish the stream and we harvest the fields and trees. Everyone benefits."

Chitter enjoyed talking about the places he visited since Tranasey seemed enthralled about the world beyond his home. Whenever he finished one story, the fellow would beg for another. Since he made several trips here each season, he did what he could to stay on Draedin's good side by entertaining his son.

"Did you know my mate and I were orphans raised at Redwall? When we married, the two of us decided we would move to another village. Since we didn't care where we lived, we went wherever the next squirrel visiting Redwall called home."

"Redwall?" the surprised voice had Chitter open his eyes for a moment and the soap soon forced his eyes closed. He listened to a voice tinged with wonder. "The stories I've heard about that place. It must be great growing up in a home filled with different species. Only other creatures I ever see are the guests, and none of them talk to towel boys."

Another male voice intruded on their conversation. "If you're looking for information about Redwall, the best source comes from those that live there."

Chitter plunged under the water, rinsing off the soapsuds. When he surfaced, he squeezed the water off his facial fur while searching for the source of the new voice. At the opposite end of the room, another squirrel had entered the bathhouse. While the young ferret rushed about preparing another tub for their newest guests, Chitter called out to him.

"Narkade, I thought you were still living with your mother back at Redwall."

"Until six months ago, that was true. I ran off and joined a troop of squirrel thespians under the tutelage of a lady named Bushface. Mother's last message wished me good luck on this tour. We're performing for the next three weeks at the town's opera house, or what passes as such."

Both of them continued their animated conversation as they caught up on the latest news. When the water in Chitter's tub turned cool, he climbed out. After a vigorous shake and a good toweling, he dressed. He invited Narkade to dinner, which he accepted. As Chitter made his way to the Inn, Tranasey blocked his way. He might have protested, but the young ferret's face had such a worried expression that the words died unspoken.

"Be careful where you wander, sir. There are many in this town who speak of marauding rather than trading. They say ferrets should hold power with a sharp sword and not a dull coin."

Chitter ruffled the youngster's head fur. "I have heard such grumblings from some of the impoverished or the hot-headed drunks as they stagger from a tavern, Tranasey; it never goes further than talk."

The young ferret kept his voice low. "All I'm saying, sir, is that the Peace Enforcers have their paws full as it is. Between these bandits beyond the town limits and a series of murders within, there are many that don't take to outsiders like they did before."

xxxxx

A skiff pulled into the shelter of the cove. While its crew rowed the craft towards shore, one creature stood at the bow. When the keel grounded, he jumped into the knee-high water. He waded in from the sea, not caring about his wet legs. His purposeful steps took him to a nearby chair where his assistant waited with a towel and a pair of dry boots.

"Thanks for meeting me, old friend. Shipboard business took a little longer than I expected. Fortunately, outstanding issues have been resolved."

"Everyone will be pleased, Brigadier. I had your command staff gathered when I saw you in the boat, sir. You can give them the good news."

Brigadier Shawarran marched across the seashore. His friend, Colonel Nateem, followed a pace behind him. They continued through the camp until they reached his command tent, which hid the entrance to a deep cavern lit by several lanterns. Brigadier Shawarran approached the long table where his officers stood at rigid attention. With a sweep of his long cape, he took his accustomed place at the head of the table. Everyone sat.

He got right down to business. "I have just spent the last day speaking with the Admiral and every ship's Captain. What they tell me isn't good. Four of our troop ships are still missing and presumed lost with all paws after that storm we encountered. We lost five of our six merchant vessels, meaning we have no supplies beyond whatever we can commandeer. The ship's food supplies are no better and will be exhausted in four days, and that's if we deny the oar slaves their rations."

There was a momentary silence as everyone assessed the information. From a point halfway down one side, a large sea rat rose. He waited until the Brigadier acknowledged him.

"Our forces are not that much better off, Brigadier. If we hadn't gone to half rations when we first landed some six weeks ago, and if our foraging parties hadn't found some supplies by raiding the nearby farms, our only remaining option would be a forced reductions in our slave population."

A female stoat jumped to her feet. Her hackles rose as she stared at the other officer. The two of them remained locked in their staring contest until the Brigadier asked for her report. The female stoat's hackles lowered when she turned away from the sea rat. She checked a paper in front of her before addressing him.

"As much as we need food, we also need those slaves. Without them, most of our army would be assigned to other duties, reducing our effective fighting force by more than half. If we go into combat, it will be with less than fifteen hundred effective soldiers."

The wolf nodded. "According to the tally sheets, we departed with a force of eight thousand warriors and a thousand slaves. Our losses have reduced our warriors to three thousand, but all our slaves survived. These slaves might be placid now, but if even one dies and the rumor starts about a new food source, there would be a revolt. We cannot afford such a distraction when we are so close to launching our offensive."

An ermine sitting next to the snarling stoat raised his paw. When the Brigadier acknowledged him, he gave his report. "While you were gone, sir, another launch delivered the report we have been expecting. General Zavallin's forces initiated their offensive three weeks ago. They are meeting stiff resistance, but our forces are advancing on the first of two primary objectives. We have our go for the conquest of Ferretville."

A general air of celebration swept through the assembled officers until Shawarran slapped his paw on the table. The officers quieted as he read the various reports sitting by his chair.

"Our soldiers are ready, how goes our efforts at conquering the port?"

Colonel Nateem opened a folder by his seat. He read the pages within while the room waited for his evaluation. The stoat rose, walked to the map and took hold of the pointer.

"Both our strategies have gone better than expected. Our primary plan relies on a dissident squad of guards within the fortress. They are scheduled to have morning gate duty in three days and promised they would keep the gates open, no matter what. With your permission, Brigadier, I will inform them we intend commencing our attack that morning."

"You said both our strategies. You never said anything about an alternative."

Nateem smiled. "Our losses required a reevaluation of our original battle plan. When we received word that our attack could begin, I sent a skiff offshore to the anchored merchant vessel, ordering him into our cove. We can hide five hundred fighters within the ship. The revised plan has those soldiers attacking the main gate from within the fortress at the same time as we launch our frontal assault. If the dissidents fail to show, or the gates are closed, we still have a viable backup."

Shawarran nodded. "The port is protected by a civil police force, not a standing army. Most are armed with nothing more lethal than a wooden stick. Once we have secured the gates, resistance will quickly collapse."

When a female stoat wearing the insignia of the medical unit glanced his way, Colonel Nateem answered her unasked question. "The worse case scenario has us losing three or four hundred and having another hundred needing the services of our medical staff. This port city anticipates an attack from the land and has all its defenses designed to repel such an attack. Our forces will be behind them; it should be a short battle."

As he stood, everyone at the table came to attention. "Put everyone back on full rations. In three days, we either feast on the larders of Ferretville or the meat of our slaves."


	11. Opening Gambit

Brigadier Shawarran pulled his boot on just as Colonel Nateem entered his tent. "If I ever find the sadistic ... cobbler ... who made these ... accursed things, I'll force him to march a hundred leagues in them." He slammed his left heel on the ground and sighed. "So what news have you, Nateem?"

"Your gamble seems to have worked. Our food is gone, but the soldiers are eager to fight. Even our slaves seem impatient for the anticipated victory."

He nodded. "The reports about our army's success helps. Everyone is expecting little opposition, though I wonder what has happened during the usual two-week lag in communications from the north."

"Our soldiers moved into their final staging areas during the night. If our turncoats show up at dawn, we can storm the gate and the battle should end in less than ten minutes. Our ship will be entering port at the same time, which puts the defenders between our two forces."

"You've done well, Nateem." Brigadier Shawarran stared up at the starry sky, pleased that it promised good weather. He then turned to his second, "By the way, did you find an assignment for Captain Purrnella that keeps her out of trouble?"

xxxxx

Captain Purrnella's mood matched the predawn sky. She anticipated an opportunity at combat, but drew an unappealing assignment. She understood the reason for keeping her off the ship. The port authority's paranoia regarding species other than ferrets would put them on alert if her unit joined that force. Purrnella didn't argue about missing that duty, the Brigadier's subterfuge made sense to her on a tactical level.

However, she expected to lead a unit storming the main gate or one of the town's dozen Peace Enforcer's stations. In the confusion combat created, she could bloody her claws. The idea of close quarter combat with untested fighters appealed to her.

The only thing keeping her claws off Colonel Nateem's throat was his rank when he announced her mission. "How can you put me in such a low-risk support role? My experience in combat makes me more valuable attacking the port than scavenging supplies."

Colonel Nateem's voice remained calm despite the proximity of her claws to his neck. "Your tendency for overindulging in mayhem could cost us valuable allies. If a soldier from your unit kills one civilian, you better have a dozen witnesses to justify it. If you're the one who does the killing, I doubt that will save your hide."

Each time she thought about the slight, her anger grew. Yesterday, she spent hours sharpening her claws in anticipation. She even tested them on an unsuspecting slave passing her tent. So much blood pleased her, and she did let him live. Though based on the Colonel's comments, her fun may have cost her any chance at combat.

She climbed down from the hill overlooking her assigned section of the town. Her unit milled about the carts, acting as if they won some grand prize. Each time she heard one of the soldiers comment about their easy assignment, her claws slid out. When one rat called their role vital, her tail slashed the air behind her. Bad enough she commanded a unit of reluctant warriors, but when she learned she had to guard a contingent of slaves, she almost refused the assignment.

Two of the slaves had their backs to her, unaware of her approach. She couldn't resist the opportunity. Her claws extended to their full length. A quick swipe wouldn't disable them, but it would satisfy her urge to draw blood. She approached them with all the stealth inherent to her breed. Her paws swiped at their backs, missing them.

It seemed inconceivable. Then she discovered the reason. Her mind remained so focused on the two young slaves that she never saw the other slave standing behind her targets. Now the two young voles stood behind the slave overseer, no doubt expecting her to protect them from her wrath.

"How dare you interfere, Wobbles. I catch two lazy slaves nattering and you intervene."

"If you harm them, where will we get replacements? We need these two if we are to complete our mission."

Wobbles pushed the two youngsters further behind her. Wobbles approached Captain Purrnella, in a submissive posture. No doubt hoping to defuse a tense situation.

She considered her options. Purrnella thought of pushing past their perceived protector and battering the two slaves. It would at least provide her some entertainment. She knew Wobbles couldn't stop her if she attacked the two young voles; it was her right as the ranking officer. Maybe targeting Wobbles would provide a better object lesson. Then she had an idea. It made her purr.

"I will give you a choice, Wobbles. When this day ends, you may either surrender those two to my idea of an appropriate punishment, or you can give them a public flogging as a reminder to the others that I will not tolerate laziness. Either way, these two will be spending the next few days in the infirmary, if I am feeling generous."

Purnella enjoyed watching Wobbles squirm. She guessed both options did not appeal to the squirrel. If she got to select the punishment, Purrnella expected at least one less slave before morning. The other alternative would make Wobbles an outcast among her fellow slaves, even though they knew she had no option.

Wobbles never got a chance to respond. Several signal flags snapped up along the hillside. Purrnella saw the flags, pivoted on her heel, and shouted orders to her unit as they prepared for the upcoming battle. Slaves slipped into their harnesses as they pulled their carts, following the soldiers. Purnella led the charge over the hill separating them from the town. Her first objective, a building Colonel Nateem identified as a large boarding house.

All moved through the sleeping town. Purrnella's claws flexed as she pointed at the main door. Perhaps a fool would think themselves some great hero and challenge her. She would welcome such heroics since she could then bloody her claws without disobeying her direct orders not to kill any of the civilians.

xxxxx

Chitter and Narkade finished a hearty breakfast and held their mugs high enough that the bartender noticed them. Draedin's mate strolled over and poured each of them a hearty portion of apple cider before she moved to the next occupied table. Chitter added his empty plate to the stack of dirty dishes sitting on the table's edge.

"I got to see your performance yesterday, Narkade. You do have talent. Even after seeing you do it, I'm still fascinated how a squirrel went from playing a cringing mouse slave to vixen warrior and back during that show."

Before Narkade could answer, glass from the door panels as well as splintered wood filled the air. Five large rats stormed in, armed with various weapons. Their shouted orders became part of the bedlam erupting in the common room as the other customers either screamed or dove under their table.

The ferret bartender grabbed his club and jumped over the bar. His life ended before his feet hit the floor. A well-aimed bolt from a crossbow pierced his heart and his lifeless body rolled to the middle of the floor. While one rat reloaded his crossbow, an additional five beasts entered.

Draedin's mate lunged for the body of the dead ferret. Two rats raised their swords. Only the intervention of a female wildcat prevented her death. The wildcat delivered a solid kick to the lady's shoulder, sending her skidding across the floor until her back banged into the wall. By then, the rest of the Inn's terrified staff had assembled in the kitchen doorway.

From his seat, Chitter watched the invaders. Sometimes a merchant saw more than any trained warrior. He noticed the uniformity of their garments, which meant these were soldiers, not some sea-borne collection of pirates. He watched as the intruders took up a station that allowed them to both cover and support each other without any words being spoken. They moved so well Chitter knew these beasts had trained for this mission, which told him this was no raid.

His ears told him even more. As a merchant who frequented this part of the continent, he recognized the major regional dialects. He also knew many of the ones used by sailors visiting the town. This one remained unknown to him.

Narkade slid his paws off the tabletop. Chitter tried stopping his friend without any success and they found themselves staring down the length of a crossbow bolt. The ermine's blank expression made Chitter stutter as he hissed in a louder than desired voice.

"Narkade, put your paws back on the table, but do it very slowly. These bandits will shoot anyone that gives them the slightest reason to do so."

The wildcat turned from the lady proprietor. She approached their table without interfering with the ermine's line of fire. None of the other patrons, workers, or raiders moved. For several long seconds the wildcat scrutinized them. When the wildcat spoke, she did so in a low voice that held a note of menace, her full attention focused on Narkade.

"Your friend is right. It would be safer if you kept both paws on the table at all times. My unit is under strict orders not to kill unless provoked and you saw what happened to that fool with the club. So tell me the truth, are you armed?"

"I have a short sword about my waist and a dirk in my left boot," said Chitter. "My friend is unarmed. I'm going to put both on the table."

As Chitter's right paw dropped below the table, the ermine shifted his aim towards him. His paw came up with the sword and dropped it on the table. Another move below the table and a small knife joined it. The wildcat's voice purred, but her claws remained visible.

"Are those all your weapons?"

Narkade snapped off a less than polite answer, which raised the hackles of several nearby invaders. When one moved towards them, an upraised paw from the wildcat had him retreat. The wildcat pulled the table away from their bench, scattering the dirty crockery.

"Frisk these two squirrels. Let me know if either one has a weapon."

Chitter stood, keeping his arms away from his side. A glance at Narkade had his friend imitating his stance. A rat patted them down, relieving them of their purse. The wildcat did nothing more than growl and the rat returned their property.

"They held nothing back, Captain."

The wildcat's expression became that of a pouting child as she waved the two squirrels back into their seats. She made no move to return the table to its proper place. The wildcat examined her claws as she stepped away from them.

"Pity neither of you tried holding back a weapon. Your deaths would serve this town well as an object lesson to any other fool that thought about defying us."

A sharp whistle from the wildcat had half of the remaining rats following her outside. As the intruders exited, a contingent of five beasts entered the room. Like the soldiers, they wore uniforms, but of an inferior quality and a different color. Unlike the other raiders, they carried no weapons. Chitter guessed they served the others.

Two adult mice and two vole children darted through the common room. The mice ran up the staircase towards the upper floors. The vole children entered the kitchen area. Nobody within the common room interfered.

The kitchen door swung open and the voles relayed sacks of food through the door. When the mice returned, they carried bulging sheets. Some of the ornate pewter candlesticks from the upstairs hallways stuck out of their improvised sacks.

The four moved under the directions of another beast that intrigued Chitter. This fifth one might be a squirrel of many years as evidenced by her grey muzzle, but her stubby tail confused him. Chitter wondered if she was some unknown species native to whatever land these intruders called home.

Though this strange creature dressed like the other workers, she appeared to have some command latitude. None of the soldiers contradicted her as she shouted orders to the other four. It made him wonder if her loyalties were to these soldiers or her fellow slaves. Perhaps he could use that divided allegiance against this enemy.


	12. Barroom Response

Chitter kept quiet as the intruding rats bullied the other customers. Several of the uniformed intruders patted down those guests not yet searched. The rats confiscated all weapons in case somebody thought they were invulnerable or wanted a chance at playing heroic warrior. They didn't have to worry, the body of the ferret bartender lying in a pool of blood acted as a testament to their willingness to use deadly force.

A large ermine entered the common room. His brilliant white coat showed blotches of dark brown fur as his lighter summer coat replaced his heavy winter-white pelt. It must have itched, as the ermine officer often clawed at his shedding fur. He yanked one large clump off the side of his face and discarded it on the floor as he crossed the room. Chitter called out to him.

"Hey, ermine, did you know this place has a bathhouse? They keep a good selection of fur-rakes and strippers back there that can remove your winter coat in no time, if you need one."

The ermine gave him a quizzical look before he wandered closer. He placed his paws on his hips and glared at him. Chitter tried projecting a friendly face, but the ermine kept fingering the hilt of his sword. He decided he must have made a less than favorable impression on this officer.

With a sinister sneer, the ermine spoke. "Trying to get rid of me? Figure these rats are too stupid not to stop whatever you two squirrels are planning?"

The ermine scowled first at him and then at his companion, Narkade. One rat suggested the ermine accept the offer. The ermine ordered him over as a babysitter for the two squirrels as he backed away from them. He had just entered the passageway between the common room and the bathhouse when the wildcat poked her head inside. Her snarl caused the ermine to hustle back.

If the ermine's voice a few moments back had an intimidating tone, it didn't come close to what the female wildcat possessed. Even as the ermine stood like a living tree out on the floor of the common room, the wildcat circled him, her voice screeching out, rising in both volume and pitch. Patrons sat at their tables mesmerized by the wildcat's actions as well as several of the rats, until a paw swiped at a nearby support beam. The sharp claws gouged the wood so deep that splinters sprayed across the area, sending two female shrews diving beneath a tabletop.

For a moment, the wildcat's attention shifted from the male ermine to the disappearing shrews. Moving with amazing speed, the wildcat seized the table and heaved it behind her. When the female wildcat pointed, the two lady shrews moved to the designated chairs. All could see her unsheathed claws and heard her deep growl. Chitter guessed one or both shrews would feel the brunt of her anger.

Three creatures came out of the kitchen, distracting the agitated wildcat. One vole rolled out a barrel of flour across the floor, while the other girl staggered under the weight of a sack of potatoes. Their unknown leader carried another barrel of flour over her shoulder.

"Captain, with your permission, may I send Saupna and Harosa back to camp? We have one cart loaded with food and ready for transport. If they return to their mother with these supplies, they can prepare the officers' mess."

The wildcat swiveled her hips until she faced the kitchen doorway. A quick glance over her shoulder at the frightened shrews must have convinced the Captain that the two shrews posed no immediate problem. Chitter observed the miffed wildcat as she addressed the strange creature.

"And how do you intend transporting the rest of the food we confiscate back to our larders, Wobbles? If I send these two back, where will I get replacements?"

"If we send the full cart back now, two stronger slaves can return the empty one later. I'm certain camp personnel will find ready replacements when they receive your message about these full lauders."

The wildcat did nothing more than snort. With a sharp bark from the adult slave, the two vole children hurried towards the street. As the three slaves passed the Captain, she followed them out the door. For a moment, none of the soldiers made a move. Then the ermine lieutenant's rigid pose slumped. He cast a quick glance to the street before walking behind the bar, declaring his intention to have a stiff drink.

Whatever brew he found, it proved distasteful. After wiping the foam off his muzzle, the ermine lumbered over to the ferret proprietor that the Captain had kicked earlier. His shouted inquiry got a frantic shake of the head from the frightened female.

"Don't try telling me this swill is your best ale. An owner always has her best hops hidden somewhere, just in case an important visitor stops in." He lifted the sobbing proprietor to her paws. The ermine yelled into her face. "So break out the good stuff 'cause that important visitor is standing right here."

Chitter grabbed Narkade's wrist and pulled him along. Several of the rats turned in their direction until Chitter addressed the ermine. "My friend and I will bring up a barrel of her best from the storage room."

When the ermine waved them away, Chitter led Narkade through the trapdoor behind the bar. They crawled along the length of a narrow passageway until they found themselves standing at the top of a rickety staircase. Dropping into the basement, they took a few seconds orienting themselves within the dark room. The near wall held racks of bottles, which Chitter ignored. He wandered down the first row of kegs, reading the markings on the side of each.

Narkade grabbed Chitter's wrist, pulling him closer. There was no hiding his disgust. "You intend serving those . . . killers, like honored guests? I always thought you better than that."

Chitter wrenched his arm free. "Use your head. We have got to get out of here, and fast. Sooner or later, these invading soldiers will begin questioning everyone. As a simple merchant from a small hovel of a village, I won't generate any special interest. But you are the only son of a prominent ruler known throughout the land. If you don't escape, they will use you against your mother and Redwall Abbey."

The gravity of their situation finally dawned on Narkade. "Fine, we're here, now what?"

"Like I said, I'm a merchant, and I have delivered many a keg to this very inn. There's a chute where the kegs are rolled into the basement, we'll climb up and exit through the back alley."

"Great idea, but have you forgotten about those rats upstairs? If we don't come back real soon, one of them will find out how we escaped."

Instead of answering him, Chitter wandered up and down the rows of kegs. His joyful cry drew the reluctant Narkade closer. The squirrel watched as Chitter first tapped a keg and then held a mug under the spout. A twist of the wrist and the mug filled with a dark liquid.

"Take this and soak your muzzle with it. Then take a mouthful and gargle, but don't swallow, as this is one potent brew."

It took a great deal of grunting and groaning carrying the keg up the stairway, which was the easy part. Moving the newly tapped keg through the passageway between the upper landing and the service door proved more difficult than Chitter envisioned. As they cleared the entrance, the two heaved the keg from the floor to the bar. Chitter grabbed a tankard, filled it and staggered over to the ermine.

One taste was all it took. At the ermine's pleased look, Chitter suggested that he and his partner return to the storeroom for additional kegs. With a wave of his paw, the ermine gave his blessing to their suggestion. Chitter rushed over and pushed his friend back into the tunnel as several of the rats laughed.

"Did you smell that one's breath? And the other one, the way he staggered? Two silvers say those two squirrels don't return and another silver coin has them passed out under an empty keg."

Back on the staircase, Narkade balked. "These ferret merchants are not the most trusting of creatures. Wouldn't the owner lock that chute?"

"It is locked, but from the inside with nothing more secure than a sliding bolt. We can exit this cellar as easily as you would your room upstairs."

Neither of them hesitated at the stairway. Both knew they were in a race and the starting flag dropped when they reentered the service tunnel. They weaved their way through the stacked kegs until Chitter pointed to the back wall. As expected, Chitter found the wooden chute against the far wall. A little bigger than a keg in width and height, it led to a pair of wooden doors. The contraption offered no hindrance to them.

As they approached, a voice chimed in from a dark corner. "You'll never get out of this town without my help."

"Tranasey, you gave us a good scare," said Chitter.

The young ferret moved to the base of the chute, blocking it. Chitter gave a quick glance behind him, glad the stairs remained clear of any soldiers. They couldn't delay.

"Listen, we have to leave, but you don't. Stay down here and when those soldiers come looking for us, tell them how we got outside. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Hurt? Those rats killed my uncle. He might wave that club around, but he never hit anyone with it. I saw what they did to my mother, so don't tell me I'll be safe if I hide down here. Anyway, you need me."

Narkade snapped out an angry retort. "We don't need some undersized, flea-bitten whelp slowing us down."

"That's where you're wrong. You two bushy-tailed tree hoppers show your faces outside this inn and every green shirt will use you for target practice. You want to get beyond the town's limits unseen, you need me. I know ways that will get you out faster and away from most of the major roads, but you have to take me with you."

"Much as I hate agreeing with him," groused Chitter, "he's right. Those soldiers will stop anyone not in uniform." Chitter chewed his lip for a few seconds before he bopped the ferret youth on his muzzle. "Fine, we'll take you, but if you fail to follow our orders, to the letter, I'll tie you to a tree for the soldiers to find."

The small ferret disappeared as he climbed the chute. The hollow echo of the bolt sliding back came to them and they hustled after Tranasey. At the top of the incline, they found the boy grunting as he pushed against the heavy door. Chitter reached over the ferret and added his strength. A few seconds later, it opened.

Their escape almost ended before it started when a green-coated stoat wandered into the alley, attracted by the odd noise. Both squirrels were fortunate enough to find a hiding spot behind a trash heap before the soldier spotted them. However, the stoat noticed the young ferret and quickly grabbed him by the throat with one paw as he went for his sword with the other.

Chitter snagged a nearby broken table leg and with a mighty swing, clubbed the soldier from behind, killing him instantly. Chitter unbuckled the sword and fastened it about his own waist. He then tossed a sheathed dagger to Narkade, who attached it to his belt. Checking that the alley remained empty, Chitter turned to their young guide.

"A dead soldier behind your uncle's tavern, and you missing, I'd say you're committed. Got any way of getting out of here without going into the street?"

The ferret youth gave a snort that changed into a respectful, "yes sir," when he looked a second time at the dead stoat. Chitter knew the young ferret's life almost ended if not for his intervention. Chitter dragged the body closer to the building, and then buried it under some trash. It wouldn't fool anyone doing a methodical search, but might give them a head start on any pursuit.

Tranasey led them to a high wooden fence and pushed against two boards. When they didn't move, Narkade gave a low growl, expressing his displeasure. The ferret picked up a small pipe and poked it through a knothole. There was a soft thud and when the boy pushed against the planks for a second time, they moved aside. Everyone passed through the opening. On the other side, Chitter waited until Tranasey replaced the beam of wood. Then all three hastened their steps.

xxxxx

Wobbles assisted the two slave children as they finished loading supplies on the cart. She then led the voles up front and helped them don the harnesses. Captain Purrnella, kept a watchful eye. The two voles were about to return to camp when another officer approached.

"Captain Purrnella, I need one of your slaves for chariot duty."

"I thought we lost all our ponies in the storm, Major."

"We did. Lucky for us our last troop ship, which we thought lost in that storm several weeks back, made landfall less than an hour ago. They started out with twenty ponies, but only five survived the trip. Brigadier Shawarran wants them used for perimeter duty."

"I'll send Wobbles back with this wagon," said Purrnella. "She's an experienced driver, which should please our commander."


	13. Beyond Ferretville

"Slinking out of Ferretville is a lot harder than I imagined," Chitter said.

The young ferret spared a quick glance behind him before checking the upcoming street. So far, their luck held. Twice, an undetected hiding place or hidden path helped them dodge a number of the green-shirted invaders as they patrolled the muddy streets. Every step nearer the outskirts made such evasive moves even more difficult as the number of soldiers increased.

Without turning around, Tranasey tried explaining the problem. "We're lucky, the port is mapped out and everything is orderly. There's no place to hide. The town's a warren of meandering alleys and cul-de-sacs. If you're not on one of the main roads it's easy to get disoriented."

Chitter patted the young ferret on the back as they regrouped in the next alley. As everyone tried catching their breath, Chitter complimented Tranasey. "You're right, without your guidance, we'd all be captured, killed, or lost."

A hodgepodge of meandering paths wasn't the only obstacle hindering their progress. Other refugees joined them. Their threesome had increased as they moved further from the Inn. Four ferrets that initially supported the invaders, now fled for their lives. One vole couple believed safety lay beyond the town and back on their farm. An elderly mouse feared for his life because he held an invader's sword he took from a soldier he killed.

"It's going to turn dark pretty soon, Tranasey. Mind telling me how much further to the forest?"

"Another hour or two, and that's if we don't get lost in the dark. There's a burned-out grain elevator at the edge of town, we can spend the night there, sir."

Chitter heard the screams of the populace and the smashing of doors and furniture as the invaders strengthened their grip on Ferretville. None of those sounds left him in a talkative mood. Now that a respite seemed possible, he offered his own observations.

"We should push on, Chitter. There's a better chance of avoiding any sentries if we're moving at night."

"Agreed, Narkade, but we have more than the three of us and not everyone is ready for a sleepless night. Much as I want to continue, we'll need a short rest. Take us to that grain elevator."

Up ahead, Tranasey waved them forward. He moved a door that hung on one hinge and sounded an urgent hiss. One by one the others dashed from the alley across the weed-chocked street to the dilapidated structure. As Chitter entered the building, he almost gagged over the stench. The sooty smell from the charred walls, the moldy grain that coated most of the floors, and the rotting bodies of the birds, left him wishing they continued.

The female vole found a piece of wood that fit her paws and used it like a squeegee. After a few moments, she had a clean spot by the wall where she and her mate could rest without touching the mold. The others followed her example and soon cleared spaces about the room. All slumped down, exhausted by the tension of their flight. None commented about the smell.

Chitter dropped to all fours and showed off his agility as he climbed a set of rickety stairs to the second level. The upper floor supported his weight and provided an ideal observation post. He stared out the busted window, his ears twitching at every noise.

Now that everyone felt safer, the actor in Narkade came to the fore. He engaged the others in lively conversations, sometimes performing whole scenes from memory. When the old mouse demonstrated some knowledge of theatrical performances, Narkade no longer described some obscure scene or stage performance; he played the part for his enthralled, but captured audience.

The last rays of the sun acted like a spotlight as it streamed through a narrow crack in the west wall and Narkade utilized the bright illumination for some fancy dance moves. Every creature there laughed and clapped in time to his motions.

Chitter reappeared. He bounded down the steps, avoiding those that couldn't support his weight. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped. He stared at his friend, miffed by such antics. Narkade must have sensed his displeasure as he miss a step in his dance routine. The others ceased their celebration when he stopped dancing.

"Since everyone seems so energetic, what say we move out right now," asked Chitter.

Silence fell upon the tired group. In just a few seconds, they returned to the spaces previously cleared and bedded down. Narkade looked the most disappointed since he had lost his enthralled audience. Though the others no longer showed any interest in his theatrical skill, Narkade had Chitter's undivided attention.

"You're so wide-awake, how about taking the first watch? The second floor windows give an excellent view of the surrounding area." Chitter eased his weary body onto the floor. "Call me after the Town Hall clock has struck the hour for the third time."

Sweet oblivion took Chitter as soon as he closed his eyes. Somebody nudged Chitter awake. As he rose, Narkade dropped to the floor, too exhausted to care about the dirt. Another two hours and it was he who woke a bleary-eyed Narkade.

"Wake everyone, dawn is in another hour and we have to reach the safety of the trees before full light."

It took a few moments before the others gathered at the door. Without a word spoken, they filed outside. They continued trudging in a tight bunch as they made their way towards the forest beyond. By the time the sun's rim popped above the horizon, they entered the woods. An hour later, they left the trees and all signs of Ferretville.

Noon came and everyone made good time through the open country. All enjoyed their walk, thinking themselves beyond the reach of the invaders. None check the area behind them. That took time and all wanted nothing more than to put additional distance between them and the invaders.

Chitter scanned the area for a place where they could rest when he heard a strange noise. An odd contraption that held a driver and two soldiers, rushed towards them. As the thundering conveyance bore down on them, all fled in panic.

The elderly mouse fell behind the fleeing group. The cart brushed past the fellow. There was a loud scream as the whirling blades attached to the wheel's rim gored the old mouse. A spear thrown by one of the soldiers in the cart silenced his cry forever.

Narkade spotted a pile of rocks ahead and at his signal, all ran for cover. The two voles leading the way were overtaken. One was trampled by the strange beast pulling the cart while a sharp edge along the trace severed the arm of the other. As the terrified refugees sought safety behind the rocks, Narkade shouted at the injured vole who was shocked into immobility. When the driver made a second pass, that one joined his comrade in eternity.

From behind one rock a voice called out. "Anyone know what that was?"

A ferret responded. "I once heard a sailor talk about ponies that pulled wagons. He described them as dumb beasts, like goats, only bigger and faster. Never thought I'd die because of one."

"We're not dead yet." Chitter then shouted to Narkade. "If that animal is mindless, all we have to do is kill the driver next time they pass. Hand me your dagger; I'm pretty good throwing a blade."

"I . . . ah . . . I dropped it while running."

There was no time for recriminations as the two-wheeled cart raced past their temporary sanctuary again.

"Well, at least they can't hurt us behind these rocks," one ferret yelled.

As the pony dashed by the rubble, two spears were hurled through the air. A yelp, followed by a gurgling groan proved the unknown ferret's last comment inaccurate. He now lay sprawled across a rock, two spears embedded in his chest.

Narkade picked up a long tree branch he found next to his hiding place, bouncing it several times in his paw. He called Chitter to his side. The squirrel barely dodged two spears aimed his way as their enemy continued racing back and forth. His dive behind the rock bowled both Narkade and Tranasey off their feet.

"If we can get that cart closer, I can jam this branch in its spokes. That'll stop them." Narkade hissed.

Gazing up the short hill, Chitter noted how the sun glistened off the wheel blades and the trace as the soldiers swiveled their vehicle for yet another pass. "Got any bright ideas how we can do that? And not get killed?"

In answer, Tranasey pushed himself off the rock and dropped into the field. "Get ready." The young ferret ran for the trees at the far end of the field. At the top of the hill, the pony reared as it turned towards its fleeing target. Every hoof beat cut the distance, but Narkade realized they would pass very close to the outcropping of rocks.

Actors excel at timing. Narkade jumped from his place of concealment, lunging at the cart. He jammed the thick branch between the whirling spokes and the wheel came to a jolting halt. The sudden stop flipped the cart over. Both soldiers fell onto the rocky field, stunned by their fall.

Chitter ran towards one of the soldiers. "Narkade, you'll have to dispatch that other one."

Narkade rushed over to the semiconscious soldier lying on his back. He reached down to the fox's belt, and withdrew a large dagger. He held the weapon in both his paws with the blade pointing upward. Narkade raised it until it was at eye level. The sun reflecting off the finely honed blade and he spoke his part as if a huge crowd listened attentively to his words.

"Behold the accursed blade, once withdrawn from its leather sheath; it became a sharpened tooth that started a raging empire. One small dagger. Such a trivial thing, yet it sent fathers into eternal rest deep beneath the brine or sons to lie within some unmarked grave far from home." Still holding the blade in both paws, Narkade raised the weapon as high as he could and reversed the point so that it was aimed at the dazed fox.

"Let this bloody metal meld with the iron heart that ruled this now twice accursed land. Allow its merger to forge a greater peace and end this ruler's gory reign. Now the mighty tyrant shall feel the fang's bite."

With that, Narkade brought both paws down with all his might. His aim true, the blade pierced the soldier's chest. Unlike the trick blades used by actors, the point did not retract into the hollowed hilt. Before death took the fox, his eyes opened wide. Shock and pain passed in an instant as the fox stared into the eyes of his executioner. Narkade withdrew the blade. When he did, blood covered his paws and chest.

"I have committed murder most foul. The king is dead and now my sword carves a feast for maggots. I have set a table for the most ignoble of insects, but did such a king, even an evil tyrant such as he, deserve this fate? Can now the never-ending river cleanse my fur of this sundered life's blood and will the glorious sun, on the morrow, burn its memory from my mind?"

A paw tapped Narkade on his shoulder and he jumped off the body. His eyes remained focused on the dead fox. As he continued hyperventilating, Chitter grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Chitter moved between him and the dead body.

Narkade became aware of his surroundings. The blade fell and Narkade dropped to his knees knowing the scene he had just played was reality. His victim would not rise with the next curtain call, and that what he did, could never be undone.

"Killing another creature isn't something to enjoy. Take pride in your reaction, but understand you had no choice." Chitter knew his words brought no comfort; they didn't when another said the same to him years ago.

As the remaining members of their group gathered near, Chitter approached the pony. Its agonizing cries resonated on his heart and he was moved to mercy. Lifting his blade as high as possible, he hacked at the thick neck of the wounded animal. With the third chop, the animal moved no more.

By then, Tranasey had joined the others some distance from the toppled cart. He scanned the nearby field. The first time he spoke, his voice carried no further than the nearest survivor. None acknowledged his question, so he called out again. This time, everyone heard.

"Has anyone seen the driver?"


	14. The First Meeting

Chitter stared at Tranasey, unsure why his comment sounded so urgent. Then it registered. He remembered the pony pulled something containing three riders. They killed the two soldiers after they were ejected from the capsized cart, but the last occupant remained missing.

He approached the toppled vehicle, not sure what he expected to find. Broken spears and other gear littered the area, but no bloody corpse. Chitter gathered his group next to the overturned contraption. As they drew nearer, Chitter detected a moan.

"Give me a paw flipping this thing over," Chitter yelled.

"No wonder we couldn't find the driver; she's shackled to it," said Narkade.

The driver had her feet wedged into leather stirrups on the floor. Her paws held onto similar straps attached to the inside so tight that her knuckles appeared white. What drew his attention the most were her manacled wrists, and for a moment, he stood rigid, mesmerized. Again the driver gave a low moan, which galvanized him into action.

"Tranasey, see if one of those soldiers carried a canteen."

While the young ferret foraged among the dead, Chitter approached the driver. She was slumped over as far as the chain allowed and seemed only semiconscious. Chitter patted her muzzle until she opened her eyes. He then helped her drink from a canteen the ferret retrieved.

"I remember you from the Inn." Chitter snapped his fingers, pleased by his memory. "Your name is Wobbles. What is this thing and why do they let a slave drive it?"

As he spoke, Chitter smiled at the old female, hoping a friendly face would help her relax. He needed answers to what had happened over the last day and believed this strange beast could provide them.

"This thing is a chariot and driving one in battle is a hazardous task. Drivers are usually the first killed because they cannot duck behind the armored sides while controlling the pony. Slaves are considered expendable."

He introduced himself and his companions, but the female's eyes flutter as they changed from lucid to a glazed-over stare. Chitter tried reviving Wobbles once more. Narkade stormed over to his friend and seized his shoulder. Such was the force of his action that Chitter toppled out of the chariot.

Narkade shouted, "We have to leave, and now. These soldiers are going to be missed. If we're still here when they come looking, we'll be lucky if they don't kill us all. You know that."

"There has to be a way of freeing her." Chitter's voice held a note of frustration.

"Those dead soldiers don't have a key and we have no way of breaking that chain. Even if we did, she's injured. We can't travel fast if we take her."

"One thing I learned growing up at Redwall, we free slaves, regardless of the cost. Thanks to my real mother, I escaped slavery as a very young dibbun. When I became old enough, I understood the price she paid for my freedom. I swore no creature would ever wear chains, not if I could help it."

Narkade kept his voice low. "And that's the key phrase, 'if I could help it.' I don't want to leave her either, but what choice do we have?"

Chitter felt Wobbles' eyes focused on him and turned in her direction. With a lithe bound, he again stood inside the chariot. A moment later, Chitter had both paws wrapped about the shackles, his feet braced against the front panel. Giving an ear-piercing scream, he strained every muscle in his body as he tried wrenching the chain out of a slot in the chariot's armor. His effort spent, he collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

Savagely swiping the tears off his muzzle, Chitter approached the group standing a short distance away from the wreck. None said anything about his futile effort at snapping the chains. With an irritated wave of his paw, Chitter motioned everyone closer.

"I'm sick of running away from those needing help. Mother Tassel taught me a lot better than that and I'll not shame her now. Narkade, you can travel faster by yourself than with the rest of us. You have got to get word to Redwall. Tell your mother everything that has happened. She'll know what to do."

"What about everyone else? You have an obligation to protect them too, or have you forgotten?"

"They can travel with me to my village. The residents of Green Birch will offer them a place of refuge. Then I'm organizing a war party and come back. If this invading Horde wants a fight, I'll make them rue the day they came to our land."

Chitter waited with the others until Narkade reached the woods. The remaining survivors scavenged the area for anything useful while Chitter talked with the injured slave. When the others indicated their readiness to leave, Chitter joined them.

Halfway between the others and the overturned chariot, he stopped. He ran back and jumped next to the slave, Wobbles. His eyes bore into her very soul, which made her shudder. Chitter grabbed her head and forced her snout under his armpit. He held her tight, overpowering her feeble struggles. His voice had a ragged, harsh sound to it as he whispered.

"Drink deep of my scent, Wobbles. I swear, one day, I shall free you. If ever you detect my odor, know that your salvation, and your freedom, is near. This I swear by all I hold sacred."

Wobbles struggled, her battered body could take no more abuse and once again she slumped into unconsciousness. Chitter placed the half filled canteen next to her before he left. As he walked away, he glanced backwards. She had not moved.

xxxxx

Captain Purrnella Slyclaw followed the main road to the northwestern base camp in response to orders received earlier that day. Once she located the canvas huts that housed the Military Intelligence Unit, she asked for directions to the commanding officer's quarters.

Colonel Varden, the Chief of Intelligence, had commandeered a small hut and turned it into both his headquarters and his home. Purrnella snorted at the extravagance, but chalked it up as one of the many privileges a commander's position afforded. She expected some underling or slave to answer her knock. Instead, the Colonel answered the door, inviting her inside as if this were a social call.

The grey wolf motioned her to a vacant chair. He then poured her a measure of liquor before taking his own seat. Neither spoke for a few moments as they savored the fiery local brew. The Captain maintained her silence, waiting for her superior to make the first move.

"Tell me Captain; are the stories about you true? Do you find excuses for engaging in physical confrontations because you enjoy inflicting pain or because you like dominating others? I mean, was it necessary to put your lieutenant in a field hospital because two squirrels tricked him and escaped?"

Before she could reply, the wolf held up his paw denying her any chance at responding. Colonel Varden rose and walked over to his desk where he removed a flask and poured a measure of its contents into a glass. He added a bit of water and began swirling the mixture, but made no move at drinking the concoction.

"It doesn't matter. You see, Captain, your crass methods are ineffective because they are the worse extreme. You may gain some pleasure from your abusive actions, but you miss important information. Now this," and here the wolf displayed the glass, "is the other extreme, a serum that lowers one's mental guards while causing no physical harm. It too is not always effective as sometimes prisoners will tell you what they think you want to hear, even if it isn't the truth."

She shrugged, unsure this conversation led anywhere. "So what do you do, Colonel Varden?"

"I use a mixture of the two extremes. The trick is in knowing how close and to which extreme. That's why I brought you here. I'm questioning the slave Wobbles and since the two of you are acquainted, perhaps your presence might prove useful."

With that, Colonel Varden led the way outside. They walked to a wide field where they saw a stoat kneeling by another form. As they drew nearer, the body of the prisoner became visible. She had been staked to the ground, her arms and legs stretched out and her eyes blindfolded. Although the stoat made no physical move against the creature, the prisoner squirmed and whimpered. The stoat held four fingers up before he resumed questioning the staked prisoner.

The wolf motioned her to a nearby bench. They sat and watched. She observed the other creature's suffering and purred. When the stoat struck the prisoner with a leather strap he carried, the prisoner's reaction seemed so mild that she expressed her disappointment. The Colonel leaned closer as he explained what was happening.

"His signal told me that he is going through the fourth round of interrogation with this prisoner. She hasn't slept since we brought her here late last evening. My inquisitor refuses to believe anything she tells him, which means he has been using that strap not only as an inducement to talk, but as a way of keeping her awake. Notice how the prisoner suffers, but the whip does no serious harm, though she will be rather sore once he's finished with her. I need information, but not at the expense of valuable army equipment."

Captain Purrnella took the hint and kept her voice low enough that her comment would not reach the bound prisoner. "I would be more persuasive with that strap. Tickling her isn't going to get what you want. Slaves don't respond to anything less than maximum pain."

"This is the fourth time she has undergone interrogation. Each time with a different officer. The first one had her wailing loud enough to wake the dead. The next two used pain to keep her awake. Our friend out there uses the whip as a reminder of what can happen. If I did as you suggest, she might very well die and we will have learned nothing."

"It looks quite ineffective, sir."

Colonel Varden smirked. "You don't understand interrogation techniques. I am giving her something we call the rock and feather treatment. My officer has been the rock, harsh and unyielding. After more than twelve hours of continual questioning, she is feeling exhausted and without hope. Now I will step in and rescue her. In her gratitude, she may reveal things she didn't even realize she knew. Now watch and learn how to play a prisoner."

Colonel Varden rose and took a casual stroll over to the stoat that still questioned Wobbles. The wolf and stoat argued. The stoat shouted in an angry voice, claiming the squirrel withheld information and punctuated his comment by striking the prisoner's leg and back. The wolf pulled rank and ordered the prisoner taken to his quarters and summoned a Healer, thus ending their masterful performance.

Several soldiers standing nearby carried Wobbles inside the Colonel's house, but did not remove her blindfold. Colonel Varden had the squirrel tied to the bedposts, claiming the Healer had ordered it. Wobbles tried resting on the bed, but the restraints kept most of her body suspended above the mattress. The wolf ordered the blindfold removed and Captain Purrnella complied.

Wobbles took one look at her and renewed her struggles, fear evident in her voice and in her expression. Colonel Varden rushed to the side of the prisoner, expressed his concern about her distress, and eased her fears with the promise that there was no danger. He then produced the beaker Captain Purrnella saw him prepare earlier.

"Drink this; the Healer tells me it will dull the pain." Varden gave Wobbles an inquisitive look, while he pointed at Purrnella. "I take it you either know her or about her reputation?"

Wobbles nodded. "I was given to her family when she was but a kitten. Her father then sold me to the army. Stories about her are a major topic of discussion in the slave camp."

While the Healer worked a soothing salve into her bruised body, Colonel Varden questioned Wobbles. Sometimes he asked her about Purrnella or the other slaves in the camp. Eventually, the wolf quizzed her about the loss of the chariot. Wobbles babbled, telling the Colonel everything she knew. By the time the Healer was done, the squirrel's speech slurred as the effects of the drug and the long period without sleep took its toll. Wobbles directed her final comment at Purrnella before passing out; the slave's voice held a defiant tone she never exhibited before this day.

"He got . . . away, and you'll . . . you'll never find him."

Once outside the room, Captain Purrnella spoke with Colonel Varden. "Any idea if she was speaking about Narkade, or their leader."

"Most likely she is referring to the one she called angry squirrel. Wobbles didn't remember him by name because she faded in and out, but she does recall his promise to free her. That might prove useful in the future if this other squirrel does decide to fight us."

"I wouldn't trust her, Colonel. Wobbles has been a model slave, very submissive until now. I have never known her to speak in such a manner before today. Perhaps she has a rebellious side."

Colonel Varden laughed. "It's the drug. Some prisoners change personalities under its influence. The meek are boastful, the cowardly, brave, and the submissive, assertive. Her tone of voice is inconsequential."

He then expressed his gratitude for frightening Wobbles, as that was why he had her there. He considered her a prop for the interrogation, nothing more. In her anger, Purrnella denounced his interrogation methods as ineffective. The Colonel laughed at her indignation.

"An Intelligence agent gathers bits and pieces from any number of sources and combines them into something useful. When I use what Wobbles gave us, I am going to have some very important information for Brigadier Shawarran, and you never noticed it. In your haste to inflict pain, you act like a fool who squanders a fortune on something worthless. No wonder our commander reduced your rank to captain."

xxxxx

Inside the room, after the two officers left, Wobbles fell into a deep, exhausted drug-induced sleep. Her tired body sank into the soft mattress, her limbs free of their painful restraints. Her breathing eased as her mind relaxed. Darkness fell upon her.

From this blackness, a thin ribbon of light appeared. She reached out, thinking the colored light a solid object. Her paw passed through it and within her mind, she saw the image of some creature polishing boots. Wobbles brushed another lighted thread and saw a fork stab a potato. She continued falling through the colored threads, bombarded by unknown moments of time as experienced by others. Since she saw and experienced their visions, she had no way of knowing the source.

With a jolting abruptness, the falling sensation stopped. She twisted her head to one side and a huge spider approached her. Behind this nightmarish creature, Wobbles recognized the pole she had touched seven years earlier when a witch gave her a vision. Like that time long ago, all of the surrounding threads terminated at the pole.

"The time is drawing near when the prophecies revealed will come to pass. Be vigilant, Wobbles."

The sensation of falling resumed. As she tumbled through the blackness, another bright light shone down on her. A very small squirrel stood in silhouette. Based on its size, she knew it must be a very young child, perhaps a toddler. The unknown squirrel receded into the distance, but not before he stretched his paw towards her and cried out in a heart-rending voice just one word: "Mommy."

As darkness overtook the child, Wobbles tried recalling the one she lost, but the passage of time had dulled her memory. Yet one thing did come to her tired mind. She recalled the name of her child, a name that remained unspoken for more than twenty years. Within the room where she slept alone, Wobbles called out his name. "Chitter."


	15. Redwall Revealed

"Shall we continue to the final item on our agenda," asked Brigadier Shawarran.

Outside his commandeered office, which belonged to the former mayor, the town's clock struck noon. Brigadier Shawarran felt euphoric. Three days into the occupation and his staff reported no incidents during the night. He expected any armed resistance to last at least a full week, maybe longer. Now he shifted his focus from pacification to his primary goal, the expansion of the port facilities.

The engineers announced the completion of their initial survey. Their commander seemed very anxious about returning to his work as he groused about the time wasted at such meetings. The Brigadier ignored his comment, knowing he would complain about a sunny day if it hindered his work.

The weasel ceased throwing numbers at him and got to the summary of his status report. "Oar slaves from the beached warships are working at dredging the channel and widening it. We hope to adhere to our original time schedule, barring any further injuries. Additional slaves could insure timely completion of our task."

"With pacification done, we can take slaves from the outlying settlements," said the Brigadier. "Best we avoid taking this town's residents as we need their cooperation. However, I want all efforts regarding army recruitment doubled as we have too few if we meet any organized resistance."

Brigadier Shawarran stood, ready to dismiss his staff. His Intelligence Officer raised his paw. Since the wolf seldom spoke at these meetings unless he had something he considered vital, Shawarran gave him leave to speak. The rest of his Command Staff turned in their seats and groaned, knowing the meeting might last longer than anticipated. Colonel Varden stood so all could see him.

"I have learned of a citadel far to the north of us, called Redwall Abbey. This place has quite a reputation. It prizes peace over conquest and the residents welcome strangers with open arms. They have no standing military force, save one warrior and a guiding spirit that many believe can become real in times of need. Stories say no enemy has ever conquered Redwall, though many have tried. Best of all, they remain independent of the Northern Alliance."

Several staff members barked in amusement. Varden, waited until a sense of decorum returned. The other members of the Command Staff acted as though this information held no importance. However, a nod from the Brigadier had the Intelligence Officer continue his briefing.

"My informants tell me the place is now ruled by an elderly female squirrel. Fortune did not favor us when the son of this Abbess of Redwall, evaded our perimeter guards. It seems he and his band of refugees somehow overpowered one of our chariots even though they were unarmed."

There followed a moment of agitated murmuring among the officers. The war chariots had proven themselves a vital weapon when the Town of Ferretville fell to them. If the chariots could conquer an entire town without suffering casualties and then be defeated by an unarmed civilian, it shattered their sense of invulnerability. Colonel Varden held his paw up for silence. When the Brigadier made no inquiries, he continued his report.

"I have it on first paw knowledge that this squirrel, Narkade, is on his way back to his home at Redwall Abbey. I'm certain he will alert them to our presence. If he travels with a minimum of rest, I estimate his trip will take at least seven days. It might take him a day or two longer since he has to forage for supplies."

One officer, a female stoat that had many battle scars attesting to her prowess, gave a deferential cough. When Brigadier Shawarran acknowledged her, she asked about the other refugees that accompanied the squirrel. Colonel Varden perused his notes before he answered.

"The others are fleeing to a place called Green Birch; perhaps a four-day march from here. It is a small village nestled in a grove of trees near a river. Its inhabitants are squirrels and otters, numbering less than a hundred, counting the young. I doubt any of them are true warriors."

The female stoat stood up to her full height. Every officer there saw her hackles raised, a sure sign she wanted a fight. In the unexpected pause, the stoat faced her commander.

"With your permission, Brigadier, I would like to take a strike force and intercept these refugees. Civilians don't move as fast as a trained military unit. If we leave now, we can intercept the escaped civilians at Green Birch and contain the news of our presence. The longer this land remains ignorant of our intentions here, the better. Best of all, any captives can be added to our contingent of slaves."

Brigadier Shawarran granted her request. As she departed, he turned to the ferret sitting on his left, asking how long it would take to move a sizable force against the Abbey. When his logistics officer indicated a minimum of twelve days, he pounded his paw on the table and growled in exasperation.

"Not good enough. We must arrive within two days of that squirrel or the Abbey will have sufficient time to prepare adequate defenses. No more than ten days."

An ermine down the far end gave a snort that attracted the attention of every officer. He returned their icy stares with one of his own until Brigadier Shawarran demanded an explanation. The ermine never flinched.

"Do we care about some distant Abbey knowing we're here? You said they're peaceful and isolated by choice, so where's the danger? Redwall has no army that can challenge us and since they are not allied with the Northern Alliance, they will not be apt to relay any intelligence."

Shawarran growled, expressing his displeasure at the ermine's assessment. "Those are the very reasons why we must attack. In our paws, the Abbey becomes a dagger aimed at the belly of the Northern Alliance. Any idea how we can mount an offensive before this place can raise a viable defense?"

A ferret on the opposite side of the table asked if a scouting force could get there any faster. Another officer answered his comment by stating it would cut the time by one day, still leaving the defenders sufficient time. The low snarl at the head of the table indicated that such a delay remained unacceptable.

A heavy silence settled over the Command Staff like a thick fog as every officer tried devising some alternative. Everything depended upon speed; they had to get there within hours of the squirrel's arrival. Nateem rose.

"Why not use our ponies? Discard all their armor and hook them to several light carts. We should get there a lot sooner. Our soldiers may even beat that messenger if we move fast enough. Since they have no army, even a token force can defeat unarmed civilians. All we need do is get through the main gate."

The ferret responsible for the ponies nodded. Her quill flew across the paper in front of her as she did some rapid calculations. When she finished, she declared her findings.

"It will work. Figure four carts holding ten warriors each. They will reach their destination in nine days. Our quick response units can follow this initial strike force and will get there eighteen to twenty-four hours later, which will double the number of warriors. Within three days of our first unit's arrival, we can muster a force of a thousand soldiers. The one drawback in such an audacious plan is the lack of supplies. We can get there, but not back."

Colonel Varden spoke. "This Abbey has an abundant food supply. If the stories are true, they somehow missed the crop blight hitting this land, which means a bountiful harvest in another two or three months. Once we take possession of Redwall, we can feast on its rich lauders. When the Northern Alliance learns this famous citadel has fallen, it will dishearten every soldier. Our General will be very pleased by our initiative at crushing their spirit. We can hold our position with a small force since these creatures are pacifists."

Within the hour, orders were issued. Nateem gathered his unit and prepared the carts. Brigadier Shawarran exited his office carrying his backpack. He marched up to the lead cart and with a lithe bound, joined the other soldiers.

"I intend being there when Redwall falls," said Shawarran.

xxxxx

While Tassel's young charges attended the Spring Extravaganza, the Mother Abbot treated her like an honored guest. Each night Tassel found herself sitting next to Robertasin at the head table. The Abbess entertained her with stories of her son's youth at Redwall, while prodding her for stories regarding her two pups and the other dibbuns under her care. Such unusual attention made her nervous, but Bruno encouraged her to accept Robertasin's obvious gesture of friendship.

After another entertaining dinner, Tassel and Bruno relaxed in the Abbey's Common Room. As conversations ebbed and flowed, one of the sentries crossed the room at a leisurely pace. Each time he spoke, residents rushed from the room. When he passed their table, Bruno snagged his arm, wondering what had everyone excited.

"The children return from the Spring Festival. They should reach the gate in another ten minutes," he said as he continued through the crowded room.

"It looks like our holiday is over, husband. Best we meet them at the gate," said Tassel.

She arrived just as her son led a large contingent of dibbuns pass the inner gate. Many darted off to parents, the excitement of their trip still fresh on their minds. Those Tassel cared for surrounded her; their voices creating a cacophony of exuberance.

Bruno gave a bark that overpowered the young voices. One by one, the dibbuns quieted as they stared at Pa Badger. With order restored, Bruno no longer needed to shout.

"I'm sure everyone has a story to tell, but for now, let the elders talk."

"You can tell me everything in the morning," said Tassel in an effort to forestall any arguments.

By the next afternoon, she had heard about the many wonders from all but her youngest charge. Tassel led the young mole, Bridgett, to a bench warmed by the sun. She lifted the dibbun onto the bench as she was reluctant to climb onto it.

"Everybody else already told you what happened. Why do you want me to tell it too," Bridget said with a pouty voice.

Tassel prodded the girl, assuring her of her interest. The mole's brow furrowed as she thought, no doubt considering each event. Her eyes glowed as she faced her.

"Captain Serenity took us to a feast where we saw the King. I even gotta chance to dance when a band played music and everyone clapped for me."

Bridgett stepped back and tried doing a few steps on the bench. Mother Tassel clapped as the girl pranced. The mole leaned closer to her as she revealed even more about the party her daughter had arranged.

"There was one mean old lady spikedog that said bad things about you. She called you a vermin and said Redwall should get rid of you."

Bridget jumped off the bench and stepped back several paces. She then strutted forward while waving her slate board like a fan. The mole's portrayal of the Countess Dorsattin Sharpae, the most powerful members of the Council of Nobles, proved less than flattering.

Her son's account of the party and the meeting with the Countess matched the child's. It seemed the noble lady hedgehog maintained her dogmatic dislike for her, though they never met. Thorn could not convince the powerful noble that she had reformed over the many years. The Countess wanted Tassel removed, but so long as Redwall expressed a willingness to keep her, she would not act on her personal dislike.

Badgermom Tassel caught movement at a window on the second floor of the Abbey. Her eyes marked the window and she knew what creature must be looking her way. It had to be the Abbess since the window was the one in her office. Tassel doubted many other black-furred residents within Redwall would have some reason for being in that particular room at this exact moment.


	16. Secrets Unravel

Robertasin, Abbess of Redwall, stared across the courtyard, observing Tassel with one of her young charges. She wondered if the badger knew just how much her attitude had changed. Robertasin tried hammering that point home while Tassel was her special guest, but didn't know if she had succeeded.

"Mother Abbot, are you listening to me?" The voice did not have the respectful tone to it a resident would use. It carried a suggestion of superiority, which made her slow down her reaction as a way to reaffirm her dominance.

Robertasin turned from her office window as if she had plenty of time. The room's other occupant sat on the sofa under the mounted shepherd's crook, his head tilted to the side as he stared at her. His long white legs were stretched out before him and his shirt had ridden out of his britches, showing the grey fur that covered his slim stomach. In one paw, the hare held several sheets of paper and even more sheets littered the nearby floor.

"Yes I am, Markus. Just because I want to give my eyes a rest doesn't mean I'm not listening."

"Abbess, you have got to do something, and do it soon. When you placed this Abbey on a war footing …."

She glared at the reclining hare, her voice hissing like an angry adder. "Keep your voice down you long-eared, blabber mouth. We have got to maintain secrecy."

The hare's snort expressed his exasperation better than any words.

"This secrecy has gone on far too long, Abbess. There is open talk about all the weird things my unit has done and those elders we have employed are wondering what is happening. I have done everything in my power, but rumors are surfacing."

"Such rumors remain nothing more than wild speculations. When it comes time for me to make an announcement, everyone will be praising your steadfast assistance."

Robertasin returned to her desk and dipped her quill in the open ink bottle. Her paw traced the words on the long list before her until it reached a point near the bottom. She drew a smudged line through the words, gave a giddy yip, and dropped the pen. One more item eliminated from their list and another step closer to insuring the security of the Abbey.

"When we started this, you said the emergency was expected within five days. Here we are going into the fourth week and are yet to see any indications of imminent danger. Just look at how all this secrecy has affected the most jovial of creatures. That cellar hog has been growling at his staff because you keep insisting the inventory numbers be kept accurate."

"Markus, that fellow will become a hero when the siege begins. Thanks to him, we have canned whatever foods we have. Meats and fish are either being salted or smoked for long-term storage. He even spotted a few leaky cellars that can be fixed before the heavy spring showers hit the area saving a lot of our perishables."

General Markus swung his legs over the side and stared at her. His expression confirmed how worried he felt, and his words dispelled any doubt.

"Like it or not, I think our secret is slipping out. Healer Shortspike has an idea what's coming because of the additional medical supplies we procured. We keep giving her things she listed as traumatic necessities while ignoring the maintenance herbs and potions."

The Abbess waived her paw dismissively. "She has no idea what's going on."

"You think so? According to your resident warrior she has it figured out. Two days ago, he escorted her on a hunt for some medicinal roots. While her helpers gathered and processed the material, she asked him one question: 'How many casualties do you expect?' I'm afraid Jazzin's silence confirmed her suspicions. Others will soon guess what's happening and when the word does get out, every resident within these walls will panic."

Robertasin leaped out of her chair as if it turned into the pointy end of a spear. Her bushy tail snapped to straight up as she marched over to her window. The Abbess remained standing there for several moments before she returned to her desk. She acted as thought she was not aware that her fingers were drumming the desk.

"Very well, Markus. If nothing happens in the next five days that supports my contention, I'll reveal everything to our Counsel of Elders, but in private. That should satisfy their curiosity and buy us another week. We must continue our preparations, regardless of the cost. I'll not inform the general population until we know the threat is real."

"What happens if this threat to Redwall's safety never materializes? Have you thought about that possibility?"

She did not answer his query. Markus went about gathering his papers. From where she sat, his furrowed brow and worried expression could be clearly seen. His eyes stabbed her as he weighed his words. When the Long Patrol General spoke, he used a voice better suited to that of an army commander rather than a friend on holiday.

"I believe your vision has got to be wrong. No military force would consider Redwall a first-strike strategic objective, and we know of no bandit strong enough to consider an unprovoked attack. An army would strike a more viable target, like the badger King's citadel built on FireMountain or some inlet that can support seagoing vessels, not an isolated inland fortress."

Robertasin listened to his assessment before she wandered back to the window. The Abbess allowed her gaze to wander about the courtyard where she watched others moving about, each of them performing their normal, routine tasks without any concern. She spotted Tassel still conversing with the young mole at what she guessed was a fun time for both of them, trying to forget why she continued meeting the hare in relative secrecy.

Such a peaceful scene made her stomach churn and she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Robertasin knew the stress of keeping the secret affected her health, but had no confidant she could trust with her forebodings. The Abbess knew her position isolated her and that terrified her. She alone was responsible for all the residents that put their lives in her paws.

For the first time in her reign as the Abbess of Redwall Abbey, she experienced the icy fingers of fear. The dream happened so long ago, but too many Abbey leaders recorded prophecies that later came true. She dare not ignore it. She wondered if she remembered the words of Martin the Warrior, or was it her stressed mind playing tricks on her when she made that diary entry. Did Tassel's recent nightmares have any connection to her vision of a future conflict?

No doubt many residents speculated about what form of insanity had taken hold of their leader. Though she hadn't told Markus, she heard a rumor the Council of Elders might seriously consider a motion asking that she be removed or forced into retirement. They believed her recent actions indicated she no longer possessed the mental capacity to continue as Redwall's leader. It seemed their final decision hinged on who should replace her.

"I know I'm right." Robertasin whispered. "I wish I was wrong, but everything my gut screams is that we have too little time."


	17. Child of Prophecy

Tassel kept quiet, happy to hear about the Spring Festival. Bridget ceased talking about her experiences once she realized she had told the last story earlier. The young mole returned to the bench, and requested some chalk. Tassel retrieved a piece she had in her pocket and handed it to the young dibbun. The child focused her attention on the slate propped on her lap.

Badgermom Tassel relaxed; enjoying a very pleasant spring day. Most of the children she cared for worked in the fields beyond the outer walls. This early in the season, every resident assisted in preparing the land for seeding. The school cancelled all morning classes since crops held a higher priority. Lessons could be delayed until the afternoon.

Elders passing Tassel gave either a soft hello or a simple nod. Tassel found such exchanges of pleasantries far more common since the Abbess announced her desire to seek clemency. Tassel felt a new sense of belonging at Redwall. Whenever she moved about, she remembered to keep her masked face held up and welcomed the many greetings directed her way.

Movement across the courtyard caught her eye. Three creatures drew closer while engaging in an animated discussion. Two she recognized. The squirrel with her finger waggling inches from the other's muzzle was Highclimber. One look at the agitated hedgehog with her head bobbing from side to side had everyone scurrying from their path. Tassel wondered what possible dispute had those two ladies exchanging such heated words.

One woebegone male otter stood two paces back, his eyes darting from one elder to the other. As the two females continued their verbal altercation, the otter looked as though he wished the lawn beneath him had turned into a wide lake. Then he could dive deep below and out of harm's way.

Tassel stood. Satisfied Bridget would remain on the bench, she approached the two combatants. The male otter must have noticed her approach as he now faced her. Tassel guessed he would welcome her intervention since he seemed to be the reason for their altercation.

Then she hesitated. _His face, it's the one I didn't recognize from my dream. _

This close to the two elders, Tassel had no trouble hearing their heated exchange. A momentary lull in their verbal barrage ended with the Healer's comments. Based on the way Highclimber rolled her eyes, the squirrel must have known what Shortspike would say.

"I cannot believe you're that dense. There's no way I'm taking that ignorant teen as an apprentice. The bloody fool doesn't have any idea how to read or write. What good is a Healer who cannot pass on their medical knowledge to others? I'll not waste my time."

Highclimber's response held a sharp barb. "Niltan has done an excellent job in our village helping our Healer, without the need for letters and numbers. You forget we grew up in Redwall where there is schooling. Not every village can afford a teacher. Healers have learned their trade from other healers longer than this Abbey has existed."

"You speak of the past," said Shortspike. "Medical knowledge comes as much from books as it does from practical experience. The world is changing and without an education, he's worthless as an apprentice."

"Our healer thinks he has talent. Why are you spurning him," the squirrel asked.

By this time, Tassel stood near the two combatants. One glance at Highclimber convinced her that she was about to reargue her position. Based on Healer Shortspike's expression, she remained unmoved by the squirrel's passionate plead. As to the object of their angry words, the young otter's woebegone expression said he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"The solution is so simple; I'm surprised neither of you thought of it," said Tassel.

Everyone turned toward her. Both elders crossed their arms, giving their opponent sideward glances, but remained silent. Assured of their undivided attention, Tassel offered her solution.

"Since our young otter is here without any elders, I'll take the boy as one of my charges for as long as he lives here. Whenever he isn't needed for medical training, he can attend classes. That way he'll receive a proper education and will have several responsible elders caring for him. Shortspike, I'm sure a willing and talented apprentice can be a great help to you. As you said, a healer needs to pass on their knowledge, and you have so much you can teach him. By the time he's ready to be a healer, his education will make him far more valuable. The way I see it, you both come out better."

Healer Shortspike mulled over the idea. "I would prefer he master his letters and numbers first, but if he promises to attend Abbey school, I'll accept him as an apprentice. He can work with me in the infirmary, but unless there's a medical emergency, his schooling comes first."

The squirrel did not react to her proposal. Tassel remembered how Highclimber sometimes ignored what others said if it contradicted her views. Than the dark expression melted and she nodded. Highclimber gave the hedgehog a hug. "I'm sure that's agreeable."

While Healer and squirrel exchanged another hug, Tassel scrutinized her newest charge. Before she could offer Niltan a greeting, a familiar paw gave her shoulder a light squeeze. Tassel leaned back, feeling her mate's presence.

If Bruno overheard the earlier spat, he tactfully ignored it. A wide smile and a slight bow of the head acknowledged the otter's presence. He turned to the squirrel and asked the obvious questions.

"Highclimber, whatever are you doing here? And where is that mate of yours?"

The squirrel bounced on her toes and with a grin that could not be contained, Highclimber blurted out the reason why she had returned to Redwall. "I have such wonderful news. I'm expecting."

All of them exchanged a hearty round of congratulations.

"Chitter and I decided I would have my baby here. Since we have no grandparents, we wanted our Mother Tassel and Pa Badger there with us on that happy day, so here I am."

A slight frown crossed her face. "The three of us planned on traveling together, but our village elders had other ideas. They sent Chitter to Ferretville with the last of this year's trading goods. They said the round trip shouldn't take but a week. I decided to press on without him since we haven't heard of any bandits. He should be back at Green Birch by now. Trust me; he'll be regaling everybody with stories about his travels before the week ends."


	18. Danger Revealed

Markus collected his pages and arranged them in order. While he did this, he kept his eye on the Abbess, who continued standing in front of the window. He flipped towards the back of his documents and scanned it a second time.

"Mother Abbot, most of the preparations within the Abbey are done. The remaining items cannot be started until we know the danger is real. Top of that list is contacting the surrounding communities. Since many of them are nomadic, I have a few of my soldiers searching for them. Even that is dangerous; I doubt anyone will believe we are looking for trading partners, not this soon after the winter snows."

Robertasin never got an opportunity to respond. With an unexpected suddenness, the office door banged open. The Mother Abbot showed how tense she felt when she jumped a full foot off the floor. His reaction was no better. Instinct and training took over as he assumed a fighting stance, facing the unknown intruder.

"Narkade, what in the cloud-filled skies are you doing here," shouted Robertasin. "I thought you were traveling the southern region with a band of squirrel actors. And how do you explain your disheveled appearance? I know I taught you better, son."

Markus hid his surprise at that last word. Robertasin never mentioned a mate during their dinner conversations, and this fellow didn't share any of his mother's features. Something he could ask about at a later time.

The exhausted male squirrel propped himself up by leaning against the front edge of the desk. Narkade did not react to Robertasin's angry tone. When he did speak, his voice sounded flat and bereft of all emotion.

"You taught me to always act when there is a need. Redwall is in grave danger. An army of vermin conquered Ferretville a week ago and I fear they're coming here, mother. Surely that is sufficient reason for my dramatic entrance."

Robertasin faced Markus. "The two of us were discussing the when no more than five minutes ago. I do believe it's time I inform the other members of Redwall's Counsel of Elders about our suspicions as my son has now alerted us to the danger. If we receive confirmation, I'll inform all the residents."

Markus needed information, so he questioned the squirrel. As they listened, Narkade revealed the fall of Ferretville. He told them of his group's skulking through the streets of the Town as they sought some means of escape. Then he related the tale regarding their battle with the chariot. With some firm prodding, he even spoke about the episode of his killing a soldier.

Throughout his narration, Robertasin remained silent. When he finished describing the death of the injured soldier, the Abbess came around the desk and wrapped her arms around Narkade. The male stood more than a full head above his mother, but size didn't mean independence. He needed the comfort of his mother's embrace, and he let his tears flow.

Markus understood what happened to Narkade. He commanded soldiers trained to fight, yet he recalled how some reacted after that first battle ended. Most shrugged it off, a few celebrated their victory while a small minority bawled when the reality of their actions hit them. Sometimes overcoming the shock took a kind word, a sympathetic shoulder and a chance for a good cry. Then there were those that needed a good, swift kick in the posterior or a hard smack across the muzzle. Over his long career, he had seen every type of reaction.

Narkade never trained for battle, he knew nothing of death. No beast ever prepared him for such a possibility. One look at the squirrel convinced Markus that Narkade could never kill again, even to save his own life. If he served under his command, Markus would reassign him a supporting role far from the fighting.

That tender moment between mother and son ended at the sound of an insistent knocking. Markus looked at the Abbess and seeing her nod, moved to the door. When he cracked it open, he noted the concerned look of the vole receptionist. He had never seen her expression, other than serious, but now her forehead showed deep furrows as worry etched it.

"General Markus? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a messenger out here insisting she see you. I tried accepting the message, but she said she had to place it in your paw, no exceptions allowed. Her exact words."

He stepped out of the Mother Abbot's office and blocked any view of the room. He believed the two squirrels needed a few moments of privacy. A doe hare in the uniform of the Fleet-footed Messenger Corps stood at attention a short distance from the door. Markus recognized the urgency of this particular message and why she insisted on giving it to him in person.

She wore a golden armband. Such an armband designated her as a messenger assigned to King Brisson. This message had to be something of great importance, and it required his immediate attention.

The doe handed over the message and switched from attention to a parade rest stance. It took Markus a few seconds scanning the letter before he again focused his eyes on the runner. He folded the letter and walked over to Lilly's desk. Markus pulled out a fresh piece of paper and wrote his response. Though his attention remained focused on the document, he directed his words at the doe.

"You will take this reply according to your instructions, private. I suggest you have a meal before leaving, avail yourself of the Dining Hall. It's a good five or six day's journey, so another hour will not matter." Markus signed and sealed his response before handing it to the doe. "You are dismissed."

The General returned the doe's salute before poking his head back into the Mother Abbot's office. The two squirrels sat on the sofa, side by side. Narkade still appeared to suffer from a delayed sense of shock. Robertasin's eyes reflected his pain and a desire to remove the offensive memory. Both squirrels turned in his direction.

"News has come to me confirming Narkade's report of an invading army on the move. King Brisson has ordered me back as every soldier is needed. I advised him Redwall anticipates being placed under siege within hours. I remain here until I am certain the danger has passed."

Robertasin's eyes fixed on him; they reflected both relief and concern after he made his announcement. "Will that cause you any trouble with your superiors? Even a general must obey his ruler."

"Possibly, but I don't believe my hares would make that big a difference in the long run. As a soldier on the battlefield, sometimes I have to act on intuition. Redwall might not be a first strike target, but it is too important to leave undefended. I believe my Liege will concur with my decision. If not, I'll accept the consequences."

Robertasin gave her son a firm squeeze and a gentle kiss before she rose. One look into her eyes and Markus knew the Abbey chose well when they declared her their leader. With a determined stride, Abbess Robertasin exited her office.

"Lilly, find the Captain of the Guard and have the alarm bell sounded. I want every resident in the Grand Meeting Hall before the next quarter hour strikes, no exceptions. It's time everyone learns what we have been doing, and why."

xxxxx

Robertasin listened to the bells ringing out the alarm. It scared her to the core of her being. Never, in all her years as the Abbess, did she ever have to give that command. She stood atop the second floor landing, watching the residents arrive. Despite her receptionist's efficiency, it took twice as long gathering everyone.

She spotted many familiar beasts and wondered how many would still be here after another day, or week, or whenever this ended. In spite of the Abbey's history, she recognized the approaching danger as something far greater than any faced in their long history. Redwall withstood the onslaught of tribal chieftains and ambitious warlords, but never fought an invading army. Such thoughts caused a slight tightness in her chest as the reality of her announcement settled in her mind.

Robertasin shouted down to the multitude, demanding silence. The buzz of conversations ceased. Every face turned in her direction. She had their attention.

The outer doors banged opened, sounding like thunder. The hares of the Long Patrol blocked the doorway, standing four across. Each soldier marched pass the threshold, they advanced to the middle of the room. Half the hares broke left and the rest turned to the right. When they reached the wall, they turned towards her end of the hall. She lost sight of them when they moved under the balcony. A moment later, a solid wall of armed hares marched forward until they formed a living barrier beneath her. Every resident took a step back, leaving a void between them and the uniformed soldiers.

The Long Patrol carried their weapons and wore full armor. The jovial expressions of yesterday disappeared, replaced with a blank look. Youngsters clung to whatever elder stood near, many of them crying. The hares came to attention with a loud thumping of one leg that frightened, rather than calmed the inhabitants of Redwall.

Abbess Robertasin could barely control her fury. Here she had an important announcement and what happens? She finds everyone's attention riveted on these visiting hares and their display of military might.

Then the door at the far end of the balcony swung open and in marched General Markus. While the hares under his command wore simple uniforms, the General's displayed ribbons attesting to his bravery and his long years of service. She knew every eye within that room saw only the hare and that fact made her wish she could throw the bedazzling bunny over the railing for upstaging her.

When he got within three feet, he came to rigid attention and saluted her. He did not shout, but his voice boomed across the gathered multitude. "General Markus of the Long Patrol reporting for duty, ma'am. We stand ready to obey your commands."

It stunned her. Markus had just publicly declared his subordinate role. With those few words, he announced his intentions of helping her, not replacing her. That knowledge gave her a new sense of self-confidence. In this time of crisis, what she had to say was not easy, but now she had the support she sought.

"People of Redwall, it is my sad duty to announce that we must expect an enemy army at our gates very soon. They are a powerful force that has already conquered one city far to the south. Now they are marching on Redwall."

Stunned silence greeted her announcement. Robertasin gave none of them a chance to speak. She couldn't afford to lose her command to a panicked mob. She had to be the calming influence that instilled confidence.

"Over the last few weeks, King Brisson's hares have assisted us in doing everything possible to assure our ultimate victory. I hoped it would not be necessary, but now that war has come, we are well prepared."

The Mother Abbot heard a few beasts cry and smelled the fear emanating from those below her. They now understood the reason behind her many strange actions over the last few weeks. Robertasin displayed a strong and resolute attitude that quieted the nervous shuffling of the many feet of the gathered creatures.

"I have a plan and it is time to put it into action. Listen as I tell you what must be done."


	19. The Battle of Green Birch

Between the long six-day journey and stress from constant pursuit, Chitter found himself in the grip of a bone-numbing fatigue. He pushed the refugees of Ferretville in his desperate haste for speed and distance. Circumstances however, played havoc with his plans as his band kept encountering other refugees. With each additional creature seeking safety, their speed decreased. Yet Chitter couldn't find it in himself to abandon anyone asking for help.

Dawn found the bedraggled refugees less than an hour's walk from the safety of Green Birch. Chitter knew this stream passed by the outskirts of the village and kept their scent hidden from anyone tracking them. He looked forward to resting within the familiar collection of treetop drays and otter longhouse he called home.

Chitter's eyes skimmed the horizon, worried that the soldiers still trailed them. A sense of relief overcame him as all looked peaceful along their back trail. Toward the village, a column of black smoke billowed upward. He tried convincing himself it represented nothing more dangerous than some neighbor burning his fields, clearing it in preparation for spring planting.

He knew such thoughts illogical. They cleared the fields last week. Chitter shimmied down the tree to the waiting group. As he drew near, it all but broke his heart seeing those trusting faces looking to him for help, and knowing he would soon crush such hope.

"Alright everyone, we're going to rest here awhile. Those of you carrying a weapon, I need to know, will you fight?"

He had no trouble reading them. Each creature's face mirrored his concern. All had expected a place of safety. When they learned the opposite might be true, it came as a crushing blow. A lady mouse dropped on her haunch, buried her face in her paws, and cried. None knew how to comfort her.

The refugees squirmed under Chitter's gaze as they considered their options. One by one, those carrying weapons came to the fore. No longer did they have a woebegone look. Now they had a resigned expression that further pained Chitter's heart.

"I see smoke coming from up ahead. I hope it doesn't foretell trouble, but best we check it out before we all go merrily walking into a pitched battle."

Seven armed civilians against a trained army? It seemed the height of madness. Had Chitter thought about it, common sense would tell him to divert. But the place up ahead was his home and he feared that his mate, Highclimber, may have delayed her departure until his return. Not knowing her fate consumed him with worry.

The small band of armed civilians followed him as he entered the water and moved downstream. He felt the cold water swirl about his pants and paws as he stooped over enough that the marsh reeds hid them from anyone standing along the shore. Chitter waved his paw and the other beasts drew near so their whispered voices would not carry to any creature standing beyond the sloping banks.

"Remain here until I call you. If it appears too dangerous, we'll retreat. The water cannot hold our scent, and the rocky bottom will leave no trail."

He crept to the top of the small rise, overlooking his home village. The treetops beyond the open field roared in flames and they drew a breeze that whipped from behind them to the inferno that had been his home. Chitter first feared the three green-shirted Horde soldiers standing outside the fire zone might catch their scent, but the dead bodies lying nearby must have hidden it.

Chitter waved the others closer and whispered his instructions. As one, they rose from the bank and in a ragged line, charged down on the unsuspecting trio from behind. Some yelled out in anger, but the crackle of the fire drowned out their voices. At least it did until they drew much closer.

All three weasels turned. The ones standing at either end went for their weapon while the one in the middle ran. Chitter gave pursuit, not even caring if anyone else followed him. He watched the soldier drop his sword and run even faster. Chitter gained on his adversary.

They raced across the field until the soldier tripped over some obstruction. Before the weasel regained his footing, Chitter pounced on him and the two rolled about. A few seconds later, the soldier found himself lying on his back, both arms pinned to the ground; Chitter prepared for the final plunge of the sword into his enemy's heart.

The soldier screamed as he looked into the eyes of his executioner. Chitter lifted his chest and place it on the hilt of the sword. The weasel's terror had him loose his bladder as the blade pricked his hide. Then he stopped and the young soldier stared into Chitter's eyes.

"You want to live? Fine, I need information."

For the next few breaths, the weasel spoke. He told Chitter about their raid. Then he explained how the officer leading the attack became angry when they located no food stored within the village. As he babbled, Chitter noticed the arrival of the other refugees. Their blood drenched weapons had the fellow shiver so hard that Chitter's blade scored his chest.

"The villagers, what happened to them?"

"They were taken prisoners. Our commander split them into smaller groups before sending them south. He figured having a few prisoners per squad added security and made it easier to prevent escapes. Everyone would fear reprisals against the other captives."

He continued questioning the terrorized weasel about the prisoner details. Satisfied with his answers, he stood. The weasel expressed his gratitude, though he remained on the ground. Chitter debated the wisdom of executing his unwanted captive, but could not act like some bandit raider.

"See that our prisoner is cleaned off and his paws secured before we depart. I'll join you in a moment."

Several of the refugees dragged off their cringing captive while the last member of the raiding party followed him. This ferret watched as Chitter removed weapons from the two dead soldiers and attached their sheaths to his hips. He trailed him as he moved closer to one of the burning trees.

"I take it that particular tree is your home?"

Chitter nodded, unable to respond.

Undermined by the fire, the dray's floor no longer supported the weight of the furniture within the structure. When it spilled onto the ground, Chitter sifted through the smoldering wreckage in a near frenzy as the tree leaned over, threatening to crush him. The ferret rushed to Chitter's side when he heard his anguished moan.

He held a scorched box, its intricate carving no longer distinguishable. The latches that held it shut appeared as melted blobs of metal. Though it remained close, a crack nearly split the lid. Chitter and his companion, retreated and without a word spoken, they made for the trees where the others hid.

"Mind telling me what's so valuable about that box, Chitter?"

"It's a memento from my childhood. That box contains the only thing that connects me with my mother, my real mother."

"And you risked your life for some memento? Valuable it might be, but worth your life?"

Chitter evaded the question. "I thought it destroyed and had I come but a few moments later, such thoughts would be true. I'll have the box fixed, after this war ends. For now, I have to see about freeing my friends."

The ferret placed his paw on Chitter's shoulder, drawing his eyes. "Friend, I'll go wherever you go, fight by your side. I lost my mate to this murderous vermin Horde when they invaded our home, so I have reason for killing them too. But there are others that want nothing more than a full belly."

"Not to worry. There's a storage cellar on the river's bank. Its entrance is hidden behind a pile of stones on the north side, which is why those raiders missed it. We can check it out later. For now; I have something far more important on my mind."

Drawing the short sword he took from their prisoner, Chitter handed it to the ferret youth, Tranasey. He watched as the boy held the blade, a feral grin coming to his face. The young ferret dueled with shadows for a moment, the blade catching the sunlight. Chitter recognized the blood lust within the youth's eyes, but hoped he would not kill without provocation.

"Guard the prisoner while you're at the storehouse. If we don't return by noon tomorrow, I want everyone going north for safety. If our prisoner attempts to escape, kill him. Those of you who are armed, follow me."

Chitter's war party had been tracking one group of soldiers for about an hour when the same ferret that had spoken earlier, paced him as they continued along the trail.

"Do you think your words were wise? It's one thing killing in battle or in self-defense, such an act is acceptable, but that dibbun is just searching for a reason to kill."

"You're Draulbin," Chitter asked. When his companion nodded, Chitter tried to calm the elder's concerns. "You noticed it too, his urge to kill? I will keep his monster chained, but it means leaving the cage open."

Chitter noticed the fellow's confused expression. "Something my drill instructor told me when I joined a militia unit in South Forest. I wanted to claim the title of champion warrior after returning to Redwall. Such is the folly of youth. Our unit had to fight a gang of bandits and I learned about the monster that lives within all of us. I found killing in battle too enjoyable; it frightened me to my core."

"What did you do," inquired Draulbin.

"When I served out my time, I returned home and married. Until today, I believed my monster destroyed." Chitter snorted. "The beast within has waited for this moment. We must become allies until this war ends. I fear calling it out, but we both know I will need him all too soon."

"So how will you control that dibbun's monster?"

"I'm sending you back, right now. Lead the others to safety. If Tranasey still wants to kill the prisoner, tell him you intend turning the weasel over to the Long Patrol for interrogation. That way, no harm will come to him. Use the dibbun's blood lust as a tool to control the prisoner. Tranasey wants to kill and that weasel knows it, he'll give you no trouble."

Chitter watched the older ferret retreat. The others asked why he left, but the elder ferret remained silent. One of the remaining war party hurled an insult. Chitter rebuked him by telling everyone Draulbin followed his orders. They accepted his explanation and doubled their pace as they tracked their quarry.

Night fell and the war party pressed on, seeking any signs of the Horde soldiers. Chitter spotted their campfire on the far side of the field. A quick count showed there were twenty members of the village being guarded by a dozen Horde soldiers. Two-to-one odds were not good, but Chitter counted on surprise giving him the initial advantage.

As the moon slid behind some clouds, Chitter nudged the fellow next to him and in a few moments, everyone crept forward. After some whispered instructions, all kept low and advanced with as much stealth as possible.

Such a simple plan. Sneak up and kill the guards. Release the prisoners and withdraw before those sleeping knew anyone had entered their camp. Thanks to the rolling clouds, even the moon's light faded out when they drew near.

Everything went as planed until one guard spotted movement and challenged the intruder. Somebody threw their dagger and the guard screamed in agony. In seconds, the entire camp erupted into a state of frenzied activity. Chitter had no time wondering what went wrong or who did what. He dashed forward and with a mighty thrust, gutted the startled guard closest to the prisoners. All about him, voices shouted and screamed while the sound of metal meeting metal resounded.

With a sudden abruptness, all turned quiet. A quick look told Chitter every soldier had entered DarkForest, but so had two of his own raiders. He remembered the first guard and thought there had been at least one or two others he may have injured or killed, but he didn't know for sure. One lost track of events during combat. For the moment, the monster within him felt satisfied with tonight's battle.

Chitter approached the prisoners and sliced through the ropes securing them. He recognized the village Healer. "Silsack, my wife, was she taken in the raid?"

"No, she left for Redwall the day after you left for Ferretville. Impatient little lady you married. My apprentice, Niltan, accompanies her, so she's in good paws."

A deep sigh of relief escaped Chitter. His wife was safe. He could strike back at the invaders without worrying about her or the unborn child she carried. Chitter offered the former prisoners the scavenged weapons.

"I know Silsack will not fight because he is a healer, but what about the rest of you? Will you join me in this struggle?"

One otter hefted a small war axe and twirled it about. After giving a demonstration of his dexterity, he slipped the handle through his belt. "Before these raiders came, my blade bit deep into any fallen tree, providing everyone with kindling. Until my mate and kits are returned, I swear my axe will cut only bone. But I do have one question, Chitter. Do we have any realistic chance of winning?"

Chitter understood his question. Only a fool fought when the forest burned. They needed somebody who saw the road to victory, and he did.

"Their weakness is a lack of food. We attack their supply depots and the Horde must assign extra soldiers to guard them. There will be so many guarding their food that whatever offense they try will fail for lack of numbers."

One by one, each squirrel or otter pledged their support. Even Silsack joined them, though his oath as a Healer prevented him from using a weapon. Now he commanded a force of determined fighters; the war had just begun.


	20. Redwall Prepares

Bruno pulled the cinch tight on his backpack. He never realized how little he possessed until he prepared to depart Redwall. He could pack all his clothes and still have space for something else he might need. Perhaps living in one room helped. He wondered if any of the other elders leaving the Abbey had difficulties deciding what to discard.

He picked up the tools he obtained earlier and his backpack. As he stepped out of the room he called home, he had to dodge his wife. Tassel marched up and down the central aisle, her paws resting on her hips while her gravelly voice barked out orders to the children. He stopped at the first bed, disassembling it for storage.

Last night proved less than restful as many of their young charges needed comforting. None wanted to leave the one place they called home. Tassel gave them no option, and Bruno, as Pa Badger supported her decision. He understood the reason behind his mate's inflexible stand, staying here was too dangerous.

Chaos ruled the Dormitory. Children sifted through their meager possessions as they packed every garment. Footlockers were inspected as the youngsters tried selecting the one personal item they would take with them. Everything else went into a communal chest that would await their eventual return. The dibbuns scurried about like bees in a disturbed hive.

"There will be no breakfast if I don't see every backpack ready for the carts in ten minutes," Tassel bellowed.

Tassel's switch struck the bed belonging to a male mouse. "When I said every garment packed, I didn't mean some."

Bruno jumped off the floor, his job unfinished. He ran to his mate's side. His paw pushed her arm down, lowering the switch. He moved between her and the frightened mouse, repacking his clothing. A quick pull and he cinched it close. The mouse's expression turned to relief as Bruno snatched the backpack off the bed.

Pa Badger noticed every child's stuffed backpack stacked on another bed. He rushed over and grabbed the straps until all ten hung by their straps off his arm. He turned towards the hallway exit, which took him pass Tassel. He kept his voice low so none of the frightened dibbuns heard him.

"Have them go to breakfast, Tassel. Our blacksmith, Egress, said he would help you with the beds after we leave. I'm sure everyone will travel faster on a full stomach."

"You're right, Bruno. Bad enough I have them scared out of their wits, no sense me making things worse by driving them away on an empty stomach. I'll send them down to the Dining Hall while you get the carts ready."

Bruno had his paw on the hallway door when Tassel ordered everyone to breakfast. Like a cork popping from a bottle, every waif under their care whisked by him and scampered down the stairs. He turned his head and looked back, wondering why she said nothing about running down the staircase.

He realized his mate had not witnessed their rapid descent. She sat on the far bed, her masked face buried in her paws. The silence within the room disturbed him more than the frantic activity. Bruno wanted to say something, but his mind resembled a pristine chalkboard. He followed the children, closing the door so it would not slam shut.

Instead of going to Cavern Hole, he went outside. The few oxen owned by the Abbey stood between the traces of the larger carts. They kept snorting and shifting their weight from side to side as residents raced around them. No doubt they felt the anxiety infecting every inhabitant.

Bruno pitched the backpacks into one cart while his son, Thorn, worked on another. Such heavy carts would burden anyone pulling them, thankfully, the oxen could handle the weight without difficulty. He just wished they could make the oxen move faster.

"I don't think I have ever smelled fear in Redwall like I do now, father."

"It's been too far in our past since anyone attacked our Abbey. I don't mean like the Recorder's tales of some band of outlaws or pirates. They were more a menace than any kind of real danger. An army is altogether different, they're well-organized."

Thorn gazed at the bassinets in his cart. "So far, Abbess Robertasin has convinced almost every family into sending their infants to Salamanderstron and I believe most of the toddlers and dibbuns will also be riding along."

"Her determination at seeing them moved somewhere safe is commendable, son. But there are still a few holdouts and the Abbess has been talking to them all night about the dangers of remaining at Redwall, without much success it seems."

Bruno gave a stretch as his eyes wandered about the courtyard. When the clock struck the quarter hour, he heard the Abbey doors open and watched their young charges join many of the other residents milling about the grounds. If not for the serious expressions on the young and the worried one on elders, Bruno might think this the start of some pleasurable excursion.

No sooner had the doors closed than they flew open again. Two creatures engaged in a heated discussion marched down the four steps to the courtyard. The older one led the younger one by the ear and that one howled for all he was worth. Bruno sighed, last night Tassel and Niltan acted like two rams vying for the same ewe. Round two to their battle must have started.

"My word, Tassel, there's no need for this," Bruno said. His admonishment fell on deaf ears as Tassel's finger stabbed the otter's chest, driving him backwards.

"I don't care who this babe thinks he is. He's under my care, he goes. End of discussion."

Bruno crossed his arms, giving his mate a hard look. "Tassel, I thought we discussed this earlier. The boy is Healer Shortspike's apprentice, she makes the final call, not you."

Freed of Tassel's paw, Niltan piped up as well. "I'm under your control until there's a medical emergency. Those were your words. If there's to be a battle, then I'm needed here. Even the Healer agreed I could stay if I wanted to, and I do."

"As much as I prefer he attend to the health of those traveling, I must support his decision." Seeing Tassel about to argue, Bruno grasped his mate's shoulder, giving it a light shake. "His choice is helping those who will require his special skills when and where they are needed most. Honor his choice."

Bruno stared deep into the eyes of his mate. They remained standing there for a short time before Tassel gave him a hug. She said nothing more and turned towards the building. Bruno knew she conceded this battle, but admired the way she walked away with her confidence and dignity intact.

A step short of the top, the Abbey door opened. The first one out the door was Narkade, who bounced off the Badgermom's chest. He never got the chance to voice an apology as the next resident exiting the Abbey shifted him to the side.

Abbess Robertasin wore her green habit, the very symbol of her leadership position at Redwall. Those who gossiped in hushed whispers about her strange actions over the last few weeks now praised her foresight. She addressed Bruno, though she kept her voice loud enough for all to hear.

"Narkade will be going to Salamanderstron as my emissary. Best they are made aware of everything happening here. We can use whatever aid King Brisson can provide."

"Everyone that will leave is here, Mother Abbot," said Bruno. "Best we depart now if we intend making it to the Northern Roadway by nightfall."

Tassel hesitated, than reversed course. She started down the steps, Bruno cracked the buggy whip and the hitched beasts moved. Parents lined the way to the inner gate, but gave way for the Mother Abbot. Badgermom Tassel followed close on her heels until they reached the passageway between inner and outer gate.

As each of the orphans under the Badgermom's care passed her, they exchanged a final fierce hug. The older ones tried putting on a brave front, but the tears running down their muzzles betrayed their true feelings. When Bridgett embraced her, she clutched onto the old badger. Bruno pried her fingers from his mate's dress and led the bawling girl to the other dibbuns.

Thorn might be old enough that others considered him an elder, but he too had unashamed tears in his eyes. Mother and son embraced and she whispered some final instructions. The young boar nodded and returned to the cart with all the bassinets. One more wave and he too passed beyond the gate.

Husband and wife stood, side by side, each afraid to speak. They exchanged a few kisses and a fierce hug. Bruno lifted his mate and turned her around before placing her sandaled feet upon the ground. Tassel grabbed him, checked that nobody lingered nearby, and removed her mask.

"Tell me the truth, husband. Do you have any regrets for marrying me? Have you ever looked at my face and felt shame?"

"Not a one! I wanted children, lots of them, and you did that for me. Sure, not all of them were badgers, but never was I happier than when we were together. As to your looks, I bonded with you, not your appearance. Why these questions?"

"I fear this parting more than any other in our entire time together."

Tassel leaned into her mate and rested her head on his chest. Bruno's shirt felt damp and he knew his mate wept. He too wanted to remain, but he had responsibilities. His mind kept searching for an alternative without any success. The time for parting had come.

"I promise, once this ends, we will never be separated again." He gave her one more gentle kiss and then he too strode beyond the gate.

Robertasin stood on the road just beyond the main gate. Bruno acknowledged her presence as he joined the caravan. Armed warriors stood at a distance, watching the nearby forest. He hoped their services would not be needed. All along the walls above, Bruno listened to shouted farewells.

All too soon they passed beyond hearing. A few travelers stopped for a final wave. He resisted the urge, fearing his resolve would waiver. His mind sought a compromise, one that insured the safety of those unfit for combat, and the need to stand with the defenders.

On the fourth morning, an elder approached him. Bruno's mind went blank and he could not recall the shrew's name. He decided a simple nod would do. The fellow drew closer.

"Many of us talked long into the night, Bruno. We intend returning once we reach the territory ruled by the Northern Alliance. We would be honored if you led us."

"I am no warrior. Only once did I draw my weapon, and even then, I never used it. Why would any be willing to follow me into battle?"

"A warrior's skill is not what we need, sir. You are a leader, somebody who can inspire others."

Bruno remained silent for a few moments. "Than here is my first order. Select no more than one in four to join us, but tell none who will come until we reach our destination. The safety of the others comes first. Tell those remaining at the badger king's home they can return with whatever relief is sent. I'll tell Thorn he must care for the dibbuns. Even if we hurry, it will be another ten days before we see the walls of home."

xxxxx

Abbess Robertasin stood outside the gate. Like the trees beyond the field, she thought her feet planted in the cobblestone. Time slowed for her, and yet it felt as if the caravan disappeared over the hill between two breaths. A silence descended on her from the walls above, telling her those on the battlement no longer saw their loved ones.

That silence signaled the opening stage of the siege. There still remained a great deal of work to do. Every additional day strengthened them. It also heightened their fear. She nurtured the first, and intended to do everything she could to lessen the other.

Workers plowed over the soil, destroying the crops planted but a week earlier. She wondered if the furrowed fields would ever yield another harvest. Other work details labored outside and she worried if there would be sufficient warning for their safe return. Robertasin knew the work needed doing, but her position as Abbess made her responsible for anything that might occur, which made her chest feel heavy.

As she turned, she detected movement on her right. She muttered a few choice words about an eye that lost details and made a complete turn for a better look. At the edge of MossflowerForest, a contingent of hares marched on Redwall. At the forefront, General Markus led his unit of the famed Long Patrol, singing a stirring song of a glorious battle from long ago. The other hares continued with the chorus as they marched through the gate, pulling a series of carts laden with sacks of grain.

"Were you successful, General Markus? Did our runners warn the other nearby villages of the danger?"

"Indeed we were, Mother Abbot. My scouts have passed the word to every know village in the region. Within the next two days, everyone will evacuate the area. We may even get a few additional fighters, though that isn't certain. Any food that cannot be taken will be burned, per your instructions. It seems a shame torching that grist mill though. We'll need it once the fighting stops."

Robertasin continued her visual inspection. "A mill can be replaced, fields replanted, and homes rebuilt. Lives lost, cannot come back. My son, Narkade, made it clear this invading army needs supplies, so anything we do that denies them such material will hasten their departure."

"There's still much to do if we intend defeating this foe. Best we get started, Abbess."

She reversed her course, walking back to her office. The gatekeepers leaned against the wall on either side of the passage, ready to seal out their enemy. The sound of the hare general's sandals reminded her of a funeral dirge. She wondered how many times such music would play in the days to come.


	21. Knocking on the Gate

Another sharp jolt of the racing cart threw Brigadier Shawarran into the soldier next to him, jarring him awake. His riding companion, a stoat, continued her uninterrupted snoring. He envied the other Horde soldiers riding with him since they could sleep while the cart pitched and swayed like a ship on a storm-tossed sea.

He checked the area behind him. Four other ponies galloped at full speed, each pulling their wagon. Drivers lashed their steeds, demanding an ever faster gait. For six days, they had pushed their ponies at breakneck speeds across the countryside.

_What happened to the sun? It was overhead at our last stop, now it's gone_.

"Glad to see you're awake, Brigadier," said the driver.

The fox driver's attention shifted to the road. "It's fortunate we had no need to hide our presence, Brigadier. Thanks to your constant snoring, I do believe every beast within a hundred leagues knows where we are."

Before the Brigadier could respond, the driver pulled on his reigns and with a mighty kick, set the brake. A snarling growl from the weasel wearing sergeant stripes and every soldier sleeping within the flatbed stirred. Soldiers tumbled from every cart, rushing about the area in what was a well rehearsed procedure. In a matter of seconds, guards were posted, tents pitched, and cooking fires lit as everyone prepared for a good night's rest.

Colonel Nateem approached the rear of his cart and held out his paw. Shawarran didn't need the assistance, but accepted it as a privilege of rank. The two of them walked about the campsite. When they had completed their circuit, they returned to the cart dispensing food and drink. The two remained silent while each filled their mug from the small keg sitting in the back of another wagon. Together, they made their way to a shady patch near a tall birch tree.

"So tell me, Colonel, how long before we reach this Redwall Abbey?"

"We'll set out about an hour before dawn and arrive by noon. When the sun sets, we'll be feasting within that Abbey and sleeping on soft beds."

"Too bad we couldn't ride these through the gates of that Abbey. If our information is correct, the turn is too sharp for our carts at full speed and this forest may not allow sufficient space."

"The forest will get us close enough. Unless their guards are expecting us, they shouldn't have sufficient time to bar the gates."

"And the rest of our forces, Colonel?"

The stoat didn't answer right away. Instead, his second in command took a long sip of the Ferretville brew, allowing another officer time to approach. The two conferred as if he didn't exist. When the other officer departed, Nateem answered his question.

"Based on the campfires my lieutenant spotted, we can expect reinforcements the morning after our arrival. Our gear will come by caravan four hours later. If all goes as planned, we will have half our army camped at Redwall within two days."

Brigadier Shawarran leaned back against the nearby tree. He drained his mug and placed it on the ground. His voice changed, losing the hard edge of a commander talking to an underling. It sounded more like one friend conversing with another on trivial matters.

"There's just so much that can go wrong when you act in haste. If that squirrel is fast, and never stopped, he arrived yesterday morning. I must believe they will prepare some defense. Our only hope is maintaining our initial element of surprise and overpowering them before they bolt the Abbey's doors."

"Colonel Varden assures us this place avoids fighting, if at all possible. Best they can do is close the doors. By the next morning, our slaves will deliver the gear we need for storming the Abbey. It will just delay the inevitable by a few hours, nothing more. It'll be like that castle we captured two years ago; you know the one I mean?"

Shawarran nodded as he recalled that battle. He might not remember the castle's name, but he did recollect how easily the place fell. The walled city looked impregnable, but a lack of any effective fighting force made the stony stockade nothing more than a challenging obstacle course. His unit gained entry with little resistance.

He compared that castle to this Abbey. Both had a peaceful reputation and neither had the will or desire for fighting the Horde. If it had not been for a handful of warriors, his soldiers would have walked into that castle unopposed. Shawarran wagered this Abbey had a similar number of creatures who could rally its inhabitants into a futile resistance. Even if the fugitive squirrel made it here before them, it would take time, even for the most charismatic of leaders.

Brigadier Shawarran had two problems weighing heavily on his mind; the expansion of the port facilities at Ferretville and the capture of Redwall Abbey. He had committed his soldiers to both missions and if he failed either, there would be dire consequences. If he abandoned the assault, the Abbey might alert the Northern Alliance. Failure at the port could cost him prestige with his commander and the loss of any spoils after the war. Neither alternative appealed to him.

He soothed his anxiety with the anticipated gains his bold action would garner. Done right, Shawarran might convince General Zavallin his Division played a major part in the success of this campaign. That, in turn, he intended parlaying into an appropriate award. Just the thought of his new title, Lord of Redwall, made him feel like an aristocrat.

As for his primary assignment, slaves and prisoners taken here and in future raids on the surrounding territories would hasten construction of the port. Once the Northern Alliance fell, the battles turned political. Each officer would vie for land grants as rewards for their military victories.

Shawarran knew his opportunity for such wealth and power died at the invasion's conception. He knew the officers opposing the Northern Alliance would make the better impression and earn the power he craved. If he wanted any of the spoils, he needed to make a most favorable impression on the ermine General, something his current assignment didn't allow.

Now, on the eve of the most important battle of his career, Brigadier Shawarran closed his eyes and pondered the possible outcomes. He smiled and hummed to himself, confident of his inevitable victory. Never did he consider defeat. He expected some minor resistance, but like Colonel Varden, he dismissed its effectiveness since the Abbey had but one true warrior.

Of course he dismissed this unknown female squirrel who ruled Redwall Abbey as incompetent. In all his past campaigns, whenever his force came across a town or village governed by a female of any species, they always capitulated. One tried fighting. She was so inept that the town replaced her with an older male and the new leader surrendered.

"It's a pity that squirrel slipped through Purrnella's claws. Imagine, the son of Redwall's leader as a hostage for their surrender. If I had him, this conquest could be done with some raw recruit and a reed sword."

Nateem's face had a pensive expression and he ordered his second in command to disclose what bothered him. The stoat didn't give an immediate response. He checked the area, making sure none overheard their conversation. Satisfied, he leaned closer.

"I fear this Abbey shall not be like some over-ripened tree. We cannot pluck whatever we want without suffering the consequences. My mind shows me a stout forest sentinel with the fruit resting like jewels atop its leafy crown. To eat, we must brave the adder's nest by the base, the hornets within some hollow, and a climb that challenges the bravest squirrel."

Shawarran responded with a light bark. His friend's habit of using metaphoric comments whenever he perceived danger had him laugh. He stretched out on the ground and draped his right arm over his eyes while he continued chuckling.

"May I continue your analogy, Nateem? I shall offer you my vision. Our soldiers have a passion that burns. Such a fire will clear any viper's nest and the smoke will frighten such annoying insects. With enough pruning hooks, even the highest fruit can be snatched with little effort."

xxxxx

Marching on the Abbey proved more arduous than first anticipated. Morning sunlight filled the sky, but the forest trails remained hidden in shadows. The trails reminded Brigadier Shawarran of a snake as it took so many unexpected turns. Several turned impassible and they lost time backtracking. Their food exhausted, the soldiers voiced their discontentment as the walk extended beyond the noon deadline.

Brigadier Shawarran needed a clear path. One that gave his force the best chance at surprising their adversary. That was a crucial element to his battle plan. He hoped this Abbey's leader believed the Horde would either remain in Ferretville or it would take much longer moving a sizable force against them.

It galled him that the original timetable forced them to move faster because those following expected this fortress to be already in their possession. Shawarran knew his reinforcements moved along the roads, confident of his success. If his force arrived without securing some entry point, the battle might take longer than the twelve hours he considered the maximum time needed to conquer this place.

An advance scout relayed a signal back to the main body of soldiers. Weapons slid out of sheaths and the Horde formed a skirmish line. In quick order, the soldiers reached the forest edge, where they all awaited the signal to attack.

Brigadier Shawarran kept himself hidden behind a tall tree even as the soldiers crouched near the open field. He opened his backpack, withdrew a small spyglass, and inspected the high walls. Shawarran counted five guards patrolling the battlement. The Abbey's entrance remained open.

While Brigadier Shawarran watched, a large contingent of woodlanders strolled at a slow pace towards the gate. As he examined the returning workers, his confidence grew. None of the woodlanders crossing the open field carried weapons. Either they had not taken the warning seriously or thought there was no imminent danger.

Brigadier Shawarran's couldn't contain his elation. "I do believe we did it. I see nothing in the way of defenses and the those manning the wall are more interested in spotting friends among the returning workers."

With a wave of his paw, the soldiers rose from their place of concealment and charged. An alarm sounded. The exhausted workers raced towards the gate even as three creatures exited the Abbey. Brigadier Shawarran recognized the uniform of the two creatures flanking a mouse. This he didn't anticipate, hares of the Long Patrol stationed at the Abbey.

The three warriors closed the distance. Shawarran almost pitied them in their pathetic effort at stopping his force. According to the pre-invasion intelligence report, the Long Patrol hares were a formidable force. Still, two hares and a mouse challenging his force of thirty? With grim determination, he prepared to sweep away the valiant creatures.

Colonel Nateem dodged around the mouse, receiving a slight slash from the woodlander's sword and raised his war axe for a killing blow against the hare before him. The hare blocked the weapon and kicked the stoat in the stomach. The two weasels that followed behind his second in command were not as lucky. Both were caught in the follow-through stroke from the hare's scimitar. A single slash disemboweled both soldiers.

The mouse lowered his shoulder and slammed into a female stoat, sending her into several of her companions. Pivoting on his foot, he drove his sword into the chest of a vixen fox. Ducking beneath the slashing sword of a ferret, the mouse used his momentum and spun again in place. His hapless opponent screamed in pain as the mouse continued his suicidal charge.

The second hare used her spear like a quarterstaff, striking out at any and all comers. She grasped the spear at one end and dropped to her knees. The doe used the shaft like a scythe and swept four of the invaders off their feet. A short sword nicked her shoulder before the hare regained her feet, but that creature paid a dear price as the hare drove the point of her spear deep into the shoulder of her opponent.

A rat got behind the first hare and threw his knife. Somehow the throw sailed past the buck hare and the rat found his leg slashed by the hare's scimitar. Three Horde fighters charged the buck and all three went flying from a roundhouse kick. Another ferret tried chopping down the hare, but missed the swift moving beast and took an elbow to the head for his audacious action.

The mouse swung his sword and its keen edge snapped his opponent's blade at the hilt. He elbowed the large stoat and heaved him into a group of rats standing to the side. One rat darted past the entangled bodies swinging his metal studded club at the mouse's head only to have his shoulder lanced by the sword. As the mouse pulled his sword clear, Brigadier Shawarran stepped forward.

Meanwhile, when an axe sliced through her spear, the doe used the splintered end and drove it into her attacker's gut. As the Horde soldier wreathed in pain, the female hare snatched his axe and threw it with all her might at a creature attempting to circle the male hare. The courageous doe never knew if her effort succeeded. A spear from a charging ferret sent her on her journey to the spirit world of DarkForest.

The buck's scimitar flicked forward and nicked another Horde beast. He danced to the side as a fox lunged with his spear. Though the fox missed, his thrust forced the hare to move to his left, bringing him in range of three soldiers. All three lunged with their swords. Two blades the hare turned away, but the third found his heart. As his body slid off the blood drenched metal, his spirit joined the doe at the gates of DarkForest.

Brigadier Shawarran held his cutlass at the ready as the mouse approached. He could not help but admire such fighting spirit.

"Your futile effort at stopping us has failed, mouse. Even now your two companions have fallen. Surrender and I will spare your life in tribute to your bravery."

"Surrender was never an option, wolf."

"There is no need for you to die. The battle is over and you have lost."

The mouse rushed him. "To the contrary, we accomplished our mission. We have delayed you long enough that the gates are now barred and our friends are safe inside."

A well aimed spear took the mouse from the back. The sword dropped from his opponent's lifeless paw. It landed at his feet. Brigadier Shawarran felt overwhelmed by the treasure he discovered. He sheathed his weapon and grabbed the sword wielded by the dead warrior.

He pointed his new sword at three of his soldiers. "You help the wounded; the rest will follow me."

His soldiers fell behind him as he raced across the field. The mouse was right, the huge gates were closed. _How did they react so fast?_ He scanned the battlement and found no beast standing above him. Then he noticed the smaller door in the gate. He lowered his shoulder.

Brigadier Shawarran slammed into the door. His command rammed the gate. It buckled inward, but not enough. The gate returned to its original position. Frustrated by the barred gate, he banged his new sword's hilt against the door. He ordered a retreat. Though they walked back to the forest, the defenders never fired one sling stone or arrow. Once he knew no paw held weapon could reach him, he faced the fortress and raised his new sword in tribute to the three dead warriors.


	22. First Encounter

"All quiet to the east," Robertasin asked.

The two hares stood just inside the outer gate. They faced her and gave a deferential bow. Their action showed respect for her position as the Mother Abbot of Redwall. She acknowledged their action with a slight head bob.

The male wore the badge of a sergeant, while the doe showed the insignia of a private. Though the doe stood closer to her, she remained silent. The buck kept his voice level, speaking without any emotion as he delivered his report.

"We went about a good hour's run along the forest northern border and spotted nothing. Then we went west, behind those hills across the stream and found no signs of trouble. All is quiet, Abbess Robertasin."

She thanked them for the information and allowed them to pass her. She decided to check with those assigned to the main gates. The Gatekeeper didn't see the necessity of posting a full crew at the gates ten days earlier. Each day he complained about the extra work. After the Mother Abbot's speech about an invading army two days earlier, he complied with her wishes.

Robertasin passed a few pleasantries with the guards. These hedgehogs might look like all brawn and no brains, but they knew more about some of the residents than she did. She enjoyed swapping gossip and thought her presence would let them know how much she appreciated their efforts. While they conversed, she listened to the hares as they talked with the Abbey's champion warrior.

xxxxx

Jazzin stopped polishing the sword he held across his lap, gazing first at the buck and then turning to the doe standing before him. The buck sat on the bench with a heavy thud. He leaned far enough back that his head rested on the stone wall. With a low grunt, he closed his eyes. Jazzin then looked at the doe, his question unspoken, but asked.

"You know how the Sergeant here hates swimming. If we returned five minutes later, we would have missed the boat, literally."

Jazzin again polished the sword, but chuckled at the doe's comment. He remembered an incident some weeks earlier when the buck tried helping an otter pup out of the pond and fell into the water. Poor fellow had to be rescued by several nearby otters. When they lifted the hare back to his feet, everyone saw the water was no higher than his knees. Jazzin didn't recall which embarrassed the buck more, having to be rescued, finding out how shallow the water was, or the sound of everyone's laughter.

"So the bridge has been dismantled?" Checking to see that both hares nodded, Jazzin stuffed his polishing cloth into his vest pocket. "Abbess Robertasin will be pleased with that news. The spring season surge has that stream cresting near the top of its bank, so I doubt anyone will be challenging a swift current and it's a good two hour hike in either direction to the nearest ford. Even without a heavy rain, that stream will remain impassible for the next six to ten days."

The buck leaned forward and held his paw out, pointing to his pocket. Jazzin passed the cloth to the hare, who unsheathed his scimitar and polished his weapon. The hare finished his task and returned the cloth.

"General Markus believes any danger will come from the south. He plans on sending a large scouting party in that direction tomorrow morning, see if we can find signs of an approaching army. That's the reason I volunteered for today's scouting trip to the north, he'll let me stay here."

The three of them shared a good laugh. That was when the doe walked to the bench and sat on the opposite side. She stared at the weapon he held across his hip and reached for it. Her paw hesitated. She changed her motion to a simple point.

"Is that the sword I saw hanging in the Tapestry Room?"

Jazzin grasped the hilt and lifted the blade, giving both hares a better look. "It's the same one. According to the history of our Abbey, this is the legendary Sword of Martin. A blade forged from sky metal for our founding warrior. Some say it has special powers and determines who will wield it. Would you like to hold it?"

Before the doe could place her paw onto the hilt, the alarm bell sounded. Jazzin gave the Sword of Martin a flip into the air and snatched it with his other paw. He jogged down the passageway and several paces beyond the gate. A large contingent of beasts broke from the forest, racing for the gate. Based on Narkade's description, these were the Horde soldiers the Abbess feared might storm the Abbey.

A male voice startled Jazzin. "Those soldiers will reach the work party before they get halfway to the gate. Somebody has got to delay them."

Without hesitation, he ran towards the advancing enemy. To his right, the buck brandished his sword. On his left, the doe held her spear at the ready. She shouted to her two companions.

"If you ask me, the three of us against all of them isn't what I call a fair fight."

The buck snorted. "Then I suggest one of us drop back and give them a sporting chance."

xxxxx

Abbess Robertasin felt herself pushed aside as the three warriors exited the Abbey. She heard their boastful banter and her eyes followed their path to the Horde soldiers. She muttered a few curses about her poor depth perception, before she found her voice.

"Get ready to close these gates," she yelled.

Robertasin urged the work crew to greater speed. In her haste to see everyone reach the safety of the Abbey, she almost blocked the passageway. The cart's wheels snagged her green habit, giving it a slight tear. As the workers passed her, a paw grabbed her arm and yanked her back. The two doors slammed shut, one crossing the very place she occupied a few seconds earlier.

"By the Eternals. Those three fools have mounted a suicide attack."

Nobody listened. The heavy wooden barrier closed, but remained unlocked. The gate crew threw a wooden latch that spanned the two doors. She knew the enemy would soon be massing for a charge. She couldn't imagine such a flimsy piece of wood keeping out a determined invader.

Abbess Robertasin shook with fear, shouting at the top of her lungs. "Drop the beam. Drop the beam."

From behind the stone wall, a beam of wood slid out. Unlike the latch, this wooden barrier rivaled the ceiling rafters in thickness. In her mind, it moved at the pace of a snail as the gate crew maneuvered the beam through several metal rings. The hedgehogs guided it along the door until they seated it in the opposite stone wall.

A second beam slid out a paw's width above the ground. Like the first beam, the gate crew guided it through several rings. The first beam blocked the upper third of the visitor's door, which allowed others to enter the Abbey without opening the gate. One hedgehog dropped a metal bar across the central portion of the visitor's gate. Robertasin relaxed. No beast, even an enraged badger, could break that iron bar.

The Chief Gatekeeper lifted the metal bar sealing the visitor's door. His paw reached for the doorknob. Robertasin couldn't believe it. Here they were sealing the gate and this fellow wanted to open the door. Before he could act on his impulse, Robertasin pulled the old hedgehog away from the wooden latch.

From the other side of the closed gate, they heard a loud thud. The gates moved inward, but the first beam did not allow an opening. The wooden barrier shifted back into its proper position. A second, but less insistent knock sounded.

"Our warriors," shouted the Chief Gatekeeper. "They're out there. We have to help them, Mother Abbot. Please, let me open the gate."

"Listen, spikedog, I want to believe our people are outside that door, but I know they're dead. The three of them saved every creature within this Abbey." When the Abbess saw the old hedgehog about to argue his point, she snarled in an even lower voice, trying to maintain her dignity and keep their conversation private. "If there is anything General Markus has drilled into my thick skull, it's this: War is a matter of numbers. Make the enemy losses more than yours. We lost three lives and I don't intend having their sacrifice trivialize by some blubbering, sentimental fool."

Another voice intruded on her conversation. She turned, finding General Markus standing at parade rest. His voice remained cool and in command, but his posture held a note of deference as he addressed her, acting like there was no other creature around them. No doubt his report should be made in private, but he projected his voice so all within the passageway heard.

"The initial attack has been repelled and our enemy is withdrawing. Work details on the far side of the Abbey have slipped inside through the two sally ports, which are now secured. I have observers stationed along the outer battlements in the unlikely event they try anther assault. Reports indicate more than thirty beasts at our gate. I shudder thinking how many we might have lost if they got inside."

An uneasy silence hung over all the creatures. It continued until a single hammer sounded. All looked at the hedgehog who disturbed the quiet. The fellow pounded on a bracing beam, knocking it into place. One by one, the other hedgehogs joined him as they reinforced the gate.

General Markus turned and walked towards the inner gate. He waited until she joined him. The two remained silent as they climbed to the roof of a tower where they could survey the battlefield. The guards withdrew at the hare's command. He closed the tower's door before joining her at the rampart.

"I understand how hard such a call can be for a new officer. It's never pleasant sending others out to die while you remain somewhere safe. You made the right decision, Mother Abbot. If they got past the inner gate, the chances are our dead would number more than three hundred."

Robertasin watched the Horde soldiers move to the edge of the forest, dragging their dead and wounded. A tall wolf left the safety of the forest for a point beyond range of any but the most powerful bows. The wolf raised his weapon as if he saluted them. He continued waving his weapon for several moments before he faded into the forest.

"Did you see what he was holding, General Markus? He has the Sword of Martin. We have lost it to an enemy. It is an insult to everything we believe."

"Then tell everyone the loss of the weapon has cursed the raiders to certain defeat and it will be recovered by some honorable woodlander after the enemy withdraws."

Robertasin didn't like that answer. It trivialized the loss of their greatest treasure, and yet, she knew Markus was right. They could not sacrifice lives recovering it and safeguard those within the Abbey. She had to accept the loss, for now.

She opened the door and waved the guards back to their post. She descended the stairs and met the officers responsible for the security of the Abbey. Abbess Robertasin issued her orders. Once the officers left, she toured the outer battlement. Each time she passed a guard on duty, she gave them a well done. Little by little, she let it be known to one and all, Redwall would not surrender.


	23. The First Battle - Prelude

"We suffered four dead and nine injured in our initial charge. Five of those injured can no longer fight. The gate is locked and barred, but our scouts report two other points of entry have been located. Those passageways are so narrow that only one soldier can enter at a time. I'm sure they are well guarded, making it too dangerous as a point of entry, but the woodlanders might use them as a means of attack or escape so I have assigned one guard to each."

Brigadier Shawarran listened to Colonel Nateem's report, nodding whenever the stoat took a breath. The rest of the report consisted of a detailed briefing regarding his efforts at surrounding the Abbey with the soldiers under his command. When the stoat fell silent, Shawarran issued his directives.

"As our troops arrive, have them relieve your force. Continue scouting this citadel, I want a viable assault plan ready by morning."

Colonel Nateem saluted, but did not leave. Shawarran looked at his longtime comrade and knew he had something more on his mind, though he seemed reluctant revealing it. He pointed to a nearby log and his second in command accepted the invitation. Nateem moaned as the bandages around his waist shifted; irritating the injury he received earlier.

"Brigadier, two of the enemy's dead wore the uniform of the Long Patrol. If they have a sizable force within those walls, this place might prove more difficult defeating than we first anticipated."

"I assure you, no such force is here, Colonel." The Brigadier gave a light chuckle. "If they had such a sizable force, we would be fending off their counterattack. They are uncertain of our numbers, so they stay inside. They will learn the size of our force when we scale those walls tomorrow. Granted, our losses will be higher than first anticipated, but they haven't prepared any viable defenses other than that trench."

"We have no food, Brigadier. Half of my available force is out foraging and what they tell me is not encouraging. Fields have been plowed under and crops destroyed. There is no food anywhere within an hour's march. If we have to camp here for an extended period, our soldiers will become discontented. We can expect desertion."

"That is why we attack tomorrow. Our soldiers can go a single day without food. We proved it back at Ferretville. After the attack cleared out all opposition, we feasted. The same will happen here. Our soldiers will eat their weight in whatever food they want when victory is ours."

Dismissing his commander, Shawarran searched for a comfortable spot where he could rest. Soft grass, a shady tree, and a setting sun put him into a deep sleep. A firm paw shook him by his shoulder and he shaded his eyes from the rising sun.

Colonel Nateem led the Brigadier to a forest clearing. As the two of them approached, Shawarran acknowledged his unit commanders who awaited his arrival. Each officer snapped to attention and remained standing until he sat in the chair some underling carried from Ferretsville. The officers sat on the ground and the meeting commenced.

One scout reported a weak point located where the forest came closest to the walls. He indicated all of the trees nearest Redwall showed signs of recent trimming. Though the crowns remained below the fortification's walls, they still afforded an ideal place of concealment. The Captain commanding the archers assured the Brigadier he could pin the defenders along that segment of the wall.

Another officer discussed the trench surrounding much of the Abbey. Their swift arrival prevented its completion, reducing a defensive barrier into a minor hindrance. No direct assault could be made over the trenching, but the Abbey inhabitants couldn't use it as an additional line of defense. His scouts said the central third of the front wall and the wall section bordering the forest remained unfinished.

Instead of the five thousand soldiers he expected, they had just over two thousand able warriors. Another thousand were bivouacked on the opposite side of a swollen stream, scouting for some feasible crossing point. He preferred having the extra soldiers for this initial assault, but time was his greatest enemy. The more he gave the Abbey, the better chance they could shore-up their defenses.

They discussed the upcoming battle until every officer knew his role. He dismissed his staff, knowing he could do nothing until the appointed hour. The Brigadier retrieved his backpack and withdrew his parade uniform. Once he fastened the last button, he left the safety of the forest and moved to a point where he had an unobstructed view of the upcoming battle. He never glanced back at the soldiers still hidden in the forest. Such a move might be seen as a lack of confidence. Footsteps behind him announced the arrival of several soldiers.

"What a glorious day for a battle. The sky is clear, the noon sun is high, and a strong wind crossing the field favors us. Sound assembly, one horn only."

A single bugle disturbed the quiet. Horde soldiers rushed the road where they arranged themselves as if they intended marching in a parade. Every soldier stood in his assigned place, carrying a small shield, which they used to reflect the sunlight as they advanced. The field filled with the sound of metal on metal as the Horde soldiers pounded weapons against shields in time with their march while singing about their many victories.

When the soldiers advanced a third of the distance, the leading squads wheeled off the road. The first unit moved left while the second moved right. They continued marching in groups of twenty, turning either right or left. When the fifth squad turned either left or right, all five made a crisp turn and faced the Abbey.

The soldiers advanced. The Horde soldiers repeated the maneuver until they had a second row. This time, both rows advanced, giving the remaining soldiers space for a third row. A single note blared out and every Horde soldier came to a stop, allowing the dust to drift away on the breeze.

He felt somebody tap him on the back. A quick look and the bugler handed him a note. The soldier retreated a pace and came to parade rest alongside five other soldiers.

"Good news. Colonel Nateem reports all is ready. Better yet, our forces across the stream found a place to ford and will arrive within the hour. A thousand extra soldiers might give us the advantage we need. Instead of a diversion, I can change this into a full frontal assault."

Brigadier Shawarran examined the walls over the main gate and the towers flanking them. "Civilians, that's all they have stationed up there. It appears our quick arrival has left this Abbey ill-prepared for a siege. Our attack will give them the bitter taste of war. It takes time forging civilians into a viable defense and a single day isn't enough. Mark my words they will break."

xxxxx

Right after the early morning briefing, soldiers slipped quietly through the forest, circling behind the Abbey. After an hour, everyone arrived at the initial staging area. Soldiers fell out and rested. Colonel Nateem dispatched one unit across a field and into the forest where they could advance on a section of the wall their scouts deemed the best spot for the main attack.

Their Captain led his unit closer, worried a sentry might detect them. The forest floor was carpeted in a thick layer of dry deadfall that snapped with every footfall. The strong wind to his back blew the scent of every soldier over the Abbey's wall. In spite of this, no alarm sounded and no curious guard appeared at the wall.

The officer pointed upward and archers climbed into the trees using the foliage as camouflage. Though they remained below the top of the wall, they held an excellent positioned for the upcoming battle. Each archer lowered a rope to the ground. Other soldiers attached quivers full of arrows or crossbow bolts to these ropes and the archers hauled them to where they waited.

The Captain imitated the sound of lark and those on the ground retreated. The officer withdrew his squad a hundred meters back before he waved them closer to him. He relaxed, glad his part of the assault had gone as planned. Once he cleared the area containing the archers, he ordered his unit to hold while he sprinted across an open field and reentered the woods on the far side. He examined the Abbey wall one final time; he detected no signs of alarm from the red-stoned fortress.

The Captain searched for his commander. Almost a hundred meters deeper into the woods, Colonel Nateem sat on a campstool, listening to the other officers reporting their readiness. At last Colonel Nateem acknowledged him.

"Sir, all three hundred archers are in place. They have sufficient arrows to provide suppression fire during our initial attack and should prevent any countermeasures until our force scales the wall. Soldiers from my unit are standing by with additional quivers for each shooter."

"I'll advice the Brigadier."

Colonel Nateem dismissed the Captain and summoned a runner. Once the runner departed with his message, he relaxed. He sat in his chair for so long, he felt drowsy as time continued its relentless march. To the north, the sound of a single bugle blast disturbed the quiet. He waited. Just as he expected, horns blew a steady series of notes he recognized as the prelude to the attack. When they stopped, he stood, awaiting the final signal that would send his forces charging the walls.

He had the soldier next to him wave a grey cloth. All around him, officers prodded those under their command. He pointed in the direction of the Abbey and all moved to the edge of the forest. Colonel Nateem withdrew his blade. By ones and twos, the Horde force sprinted across the open field to the heavy forest. The Abbey remained unaware of their approach.

"With the defenders focused on the main gate, my soldiers will fall on them from the rear. A full belly and a soft bed awaits, and I intend indulging on both before this day ends."


	24. For the Defense

General Markus kept his head low and his hat pulled down; hoping anyone observing him would not recognize his uniform. He had debated the wisdom of abandoning uniforms, but thought the presence of the hares along the anticipated points of attack would bolster the courage of the residents.

_One bloody week of lessons isn't going to do it. Our Mother Abbot's blasted insistence on secrecy is going to hurt when we cross swords. I could have trained these civilians a lot better if we started when I wanted. Let's hope they fall into our trap or we might be witnessing the conquest of Redwall._

He searched the Horde's camp for the wolf that held the Sword of Martin. Markus knew deep within his bones this wolf commanded the enemy forces. He found the wolf, accompanied by a stoat, studying the Abbey. He wondered if this wolf would commit his forces to a frontal attack. Everything depended on his opponent taking the bait. If they committed all their forces to a frontal assault of the main gate, he doubt they could hold.

All remained quiet after the wolf retreated to the shadows of the forest. As the sun reached its zenith, Markus noticed movement. The wolf he saw earlier walked several paces out into the open. A number of soldiers followed the wolf, but instead of weapons, these soldiers carried bugles.

Time dragged. The long wait ended when a single bugle blared out in the field before the main gate. Markus hurried to his observation post. A gust of wind displaced his cap and his ears sprung upright. The Horde soldiers advanced on the Abbey.

Markus gazed upon the many frightened faces staring at the display of military might and discipline before them. He listened to one or two defenders crying, but when he looked towards those residents, he saw them digging deep within for the courage they needed. He knew they would do their duty when called upon.

General Markus scanned the surrounding walls. A few residents leaning over the battlement, checking the growing number of Horde soldiers. He kept a confident demeanor while he continued his long distance inspection. A lady mole crawled along the base of the wall until she came within reach of his belt. She gave a tentative tug.

"Begging your pardon, General, but we have everything ready for deployment. Should we put them out now?"

"Not yet, my dear, no sense making our move until they make theirs. Trust me; this is the hardest part of any battle, waiting for it to begin."

When the enemy units had advanced to a point halfway between the stream and the main gate, a single bugle sounded. Every Horde soldier came to a stop, allowing the dust to drift away on the breeze. Markus found the silence more disquieting than their display of military discipline.

He left his post and climbed to the tower's roof. Markus strolled to an open box sitting against the back wall. His fingers raced along the many tubes within until he found the one he sought. Markus withdrew a blue banner with a gold triangle, fastened it to a long pole, and hung it over the side facing the courtyard. A few seconds later, a solitary beast raised a similar banner on a long staff and waved it. One by one, the towers on the other walls displayed the banner.

"Alright everyone, stand by to repel attackers. Their plan is simple; they will attempt to secure these towers so the force crossing the wall between them can do so unopposed. All we have to do is stop them."

The tower door opened and several residents wheeled in a large cauldron. They stacked wood under it while another defender applied a torch. As the workers fanned the blaze, others hauled up the wooden boards prepared weeks earlier. Workers used heavy hammers as they prepared the contraptions for battle. At each merlons these defenders faced him, awaiting his signal.

A lone hare wearing the insignia of a lieutenant darted across the battlement roof. Markus moved closer while keeping an eye on all the defensive preparations. He grabbed a resident carrying quivers of arrows.

"We cannot afford to waste arrows. This wind is too strong and not every archer is an expert. Have those on the wall exchange bows for lances."

The young shrew hesitated. "What about anyone using slings?"

Markus laughed. "Stones we have in abundance."

The shrew rushed down the stairs, leaving Markus. He turned to the hare officer. A curt command and the lieutenant made his report.

"General, I have one squad in the other tower and the rest of our unit spaced out along the wall. All report ready for action. I assigned two squads to spring our trap at the appropriate time." The buck hare scanned the tower rooftop, and snorted. "Civilians, if they run at the first sign of blood, we're doomed."

"His force outnumbers us by two to one, if the civilians hold, which is why I want our unit in full view. My gut tells me this wolf has no intention of fighting a frontal assault with such a small number of soldiers. This is a diversion for the real strike. I expect you to keep me apprised of any such attacks if it comes anywhere but where we want him to hit."

General Markus dismissed the officer. His mind spun like a top as he considered his options. He had to believe the residents would fight. If not, he sacrificed his unit for nothing. He needed this wolf to act as he wanted. If the wolf didn't, the number dead would give another meaning to the term Redwall.

xxxxx

Stormpaw felt less than useless. Here she was in what had to be the greatest battle ever and she stood within the doorway of a tower far from the fight. General Markus called her role vital; it didn't seem like it. All morning she remained here, wishing she could wade through their enemy instead of hiding. She peered out at the deserted wall and once again questioned the tactical wisdom of her commander.

A horn sounded and from the neighboring tower, a flag was raised indicating the main gate expected an attack. The color told her two things. First, General Markus thought the attack was a diversion. If the General was right, a massive assault would hit an unguarded section of the wall. The flag's design let her know he expected the main thrust to be against her.

Stormpaw couldn't decide which she feared more. If the General was right, she faced the brunt of that massed force without the manpower she needed. Ten hares and twice as many untested residents against a thousand? Did such a move signal confidence or desperation? She tried comprehending how a mere lieutenant, received such an awesome responsibility. If the Horde stormed this section of the outer wall, she hoped the General's plan would work.

Her second, a buck hare missing his front tooth, tapped her shoulder. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but sss-something is-sss happening. There's-sss movement in the woods-sss."

She found the whistled s-sound a comfort, and not an annoyance as some did. The fellow had a sharp eye and even sharper ears, which made him a great scout. Several times in the past, his senses detected ambushes that might have killed her squad. She followed the hare inside, hoping she would find whatever he detected, and at the same time, praying he would be wrong just this once.

She kept far enough back that no light reflected off her spyglass. It made it difficult to do a proper scan, but her scout directed her. Stormpaw kept the glass focused on the clearing. Movement, two forms just dashed across the dry field. It repeated. The scout pushed her spyglass to the right. At first, she saw nothing more than a forest dying under a severe drought. Than she noticed one tree's leaves move against the wind.

Stormpaw grabbed a red scarf and hung it out the window facing the inner courtyard. The moment had come, the enemy had taken the bait. She returned to the tower's doorway, listening. In the courtyard, several residents prepared four war machines. Time became her greatest enemy.

She grabbed her shield and took a deep breath. The distance to the next tower measured a hundred paces. In the past, she proved herself the fastest runner in the unit. This time, failure didn't mean losing a prize; it might cost every resident their life.

She charged across the gap to her first objective. Stormpaw opened a bag and scattered the special blades. No matter how they fell, two edges pointed upward. She than used her sword's hilt like a mallet, breaking the clay urn. An oily concoction spread across the stone battlement.

No time to admire her work. She sprinted to the next station where she repeated her actions. Time dragged. She shattered the last vase and dove through the doorway and into the other tower. Another hare caught her as she rolled across the floor.

"Take two up to the roof, make sure all is ready. When it starts, things are going to heat up fast. This better work or none of us will see the sun set."


	25. The First Battle of Redwall

Brigadier Shawarran performed a final inspection of the wall. Nothing had changed; his confidence soared. Perhaps this feint would prove as effective as his main attack.

"Send the slaves carrying the assault ladders forward. Then sound the charge. These Abbey beasts have a reputation of not hurting slaves, that will serve us well."

All five bugles played a series of notes that made his fingers long to curl around his favorite weapon. His emotions surged. The soldiers standing mute before the wall launched themselves like a sea wave against a rocky shore.

The slaves carrying the assault ladders lifted them even as the first soldier started his assent. Those soldiers carrying grappling hooks prepared to launch them at the wall. The Abbey defenders waited.

Some inner sense of foreboding had him study the wall a second time. He shook with rage. The defenders anticipated his move. They deployed a wooden barrier that kept the ladder's grappling hook from securing to the wall. Even as he realized the danger, the first ladder fell. The slaves struggled to lift the ladder back into position and his soldiers became targets for the defenders overhead.

He called one of his attendants forward. "Find the assault officer and have him lean the ladders under that barrier. Our soldiers will have to force their way onto the battlement."

A whistle blew and more than a dozen grappling hooks flew towards the wall. They reached their apex and bounced back, with the exception of one. That one hung suspended in midair as if it were a tethered hummingbird. When his soldier gave the rope a hard pull, Brigadier Shawarran heard the distinctive twang of metal separating. He called a second attendant forward.

"Have those soldiers using grappling hooks fall back and toss again. The Abbey has wire strung between the towers. We need to clear that first before we can attempt the wall."

Such elaborate defenses took time. Even with help from a Long Patrol unit, these Abbey defenders needed more than a two-day warning. Either this Abbey was more warlike than their reputation, or they had a much longer time preparing for an attack.

Shawarran's mind recalled the morning briefing. His scouts reported villages abandoned and fields destroyed. It confused him. At this time of year everyone planted new crops while repairing homes damaged during the winter. They should have found sufficient food and supplies, unless the inhabitants had advanced warning.

His mind returned to the assault. Soldiers surge over the wooden barrier, though a fair number fell to their death. This Abbey couldn't muster that large a force without leaving a weak point. He knew they would press the defenders back somewhere. Trained soldiers defeated pressed civilians, regardless of their numbers or their determination. Once they gained a point of access, it was just a matter of time.

The tide of battle shifted. The wooden barriers fell, as did many of his soldiers. Those standing on the ladder had to reach up for the wall, giving defenders the time they needed to repel his attack. Atop the towers, liquid flowed out of the gargoyles and sprayed over those below. Screams of pain drowned out battle cries.

Hidden recesses within the wall opened. Through his spyglass, Shawarran watched flaming rags destroy the few ladders and climbing ropes he possessed. Within the protection of the tower's walls, lances shot out. Soldiers had no chance at avoiding such weapons and had no opportunity at killing these defenders. His soldiers fell off the towers and none replaced them. With the two towers secured, those attacking the wall faced a deadly crossfire.

"Where do you want my troops?"

The voice intruded on his thoughts. He recognized it as the officer commanding the force delayed by the swollen stream. Though he expected him, he anticipated using these soldiers to overwhelm the defenders wherever his first wave secured a foothold. Perhaps victory remained within his grasp.

"Have you any ladders or grappling hooks," he asked.

"Those supplies were either lost or misdirected, Brigadier. What are your orders?"

He had no choice. Without those supplies, he lost the initiative and any chance at victory. Instead, he shouted above the sound of battle. Though he anticipated this outcome, it did not make the defeat any less bitter.

"Sound retreat. I shall decide if a second assault is necessary after we regroup." He pointed at the officer. "Have your soldiers assemble on the road, but beyond range of their weapons. Keep the defenders focused on us and they might nor realize the danger until it's too late. We will have this Abbey by nightfall."

xxxxx

Colonel Nateem raced across the dry grass between him and the forest. Once in the woods, units reorganized. Military discipline and training took over and the soldiers moved forward. Everyone hesitated at the marker his scouts left, waiting. After experiencing many battles over the last seven years, Nateem still felt the nervous anticipation that came before every encounter.

Bugles sounded the charge and he knew Brigadier Shawarran attacked the main gate. Nateem knew his commander didn't expect to succeed. Its purpose was to keep the defenders busy while he breached the Abbey's walls. Once he secured this section of the outer wall, he could overwhelm the defenders by sheer force of numbers. The battle would be over quick.

He lifted a whistle to his lips and blew. Soldiers surged forward. Through the treetops, he listened to the twang of bows loosen flights of arrows. If any beast guarded this section of wall, they either died in the initial volley or would fail to get any help soon enough.

Grappling hooks flew over the wall and atop the towers. Nobody disturbed them. His soldiers climbed. It seemed so easy. Everything happening according to plan. He already anticipated the victory celebration.

Disaster hit. A wall of fire burst out along the battlement and the rooftops. Soldiers from the first wave fell off battlement and towers, their fur burning. An officer came back, telling him what he already guessed. The defenders used a heavy layer of oil on the stone tops and ignited it when his soldiers cleared the wall. They had anticipated his attack.

Nateem shouted at the nearest officer. "Delay the next wave another moment. The oil will burn itself out soon enough. If the defenders shift forces to counter our attack, they leave the main gate vulnerable. One of us will break them."

Something flew over the walls. Nateem's eyes tracked the flaming bales of hay as they flew overhead. He ignored the fiery projectile as it would land well behind his soldiers. It couldn't harm him or his troops, he dismissed the defender's counter as unimportant, though the presence of a war machine, like a catapult, indicated these defenders had sufficient time to built them. That worried him.

His eyes wandered down to his boots. Something discolored his left boot. He glanced at the wall, saw the flames, decided he had the time, and sat on a nearby log. It took a moment to remove his boot and examine it. One sniff told him everything. Oil, the shoe reeked of oil. He tried puzzling out the meaning behind his discovery.

It came to him just as the danger manifested itself. He remembered the sound of breaking pottery as he crossed the field. It seemed so odd, he dismissed it as an overactive imagination on the eve of battle. Now it's meaning came to him with absolute clarity. If the defenders laid oily pots throughout the field and those burning bales hit one.

A strong wind, tinder dry grasses, the forest suffering a drought, a heavy covering of dry debris, and a flame. It roared like a maddened beast denied its meal. Fire raced across the ground and atop the trees faster than any runner. Smoke turned into a dirty fog that made eyes water and throats choke. Visibility dropped. The officer he spoke with vanished in the haze. Some beast fell out of the tree next to him, burning.

Screams filled the air. Somebody ran past him and into a tree, knocking himself unconscious. Soldiers panicked as the fire and smoke intensified. Colonel Nateem dodged several as he too sought safety. One beast turned into a comet as he raced through his field of vision, disappearing in the smoke after running half a dozen paces.

He knew the battle lost; he needed to escape this trap. He picked a direction and ran. The boot he discarded since the oily stain might hold a flame. As he ran, he passed soldiers lying on the ground. Most twisted an ankle or broke a leg tripping over the heavy deadfall or each other. A few thrashed on the ground as they burned. Embers fell from the treetops like raindrops. Bodies caught fire and they started new fires. The stench of burning fur acted as an incentive for greater speed.

Nateem felt the heat and saw the wall of flames before him. Every instinct said turn. Instead, he removed his uniform blouse, covered his muzzle, and dumped his canteen over the cloth. He took a deep breath, held it, and ran into the fire. He dare not stop or fall, either would prove fatal. His lungs demanded air, but he continued to hold his breath. If he inhaled, it was certain death. He ignored the pain from the foot missing a boot.

Cold air washed over him. Nateem threw himself to the ground and rolled until certain no spark remained. He inhaled the clean air, celebrating his victory over the fire. A bloody foot seemed a small price to pay for his escape. The reality of the last few moments hit him hard. He lived, but how many others died? That fire caught everyone unaware, and most paid with their lives. As he limped back to camp, he wondered if he would ever find another boot to replace the one he lost.

xxxxx

Abbess Robertasin sat behind her desk. She held a written report regarding this first day of battle. Her eyes refused to focus on the words. Her mind kept seeing bodies lying in the corridor by the Infirmary. Perhaps she made a mistake volunteering to help the Healer.

"I'm too tired, give me a summation, General Markus."

"We repelled their charge against our main gate, as expected. Eight were killed, all residents. Another fifteen suffered minor injuries. Healer Shortspike said they will recover over the next three days. Enemy losses exceeded fifty, though I believe my spotters may have underestimated their count."

She nodded. "What about their main attack? Did that trap work?"

Markus almost gloated. "They took the bait, Abbess. We lost all our oil reserves and most of our grease, but our plan worked exactly as intended. Best of all, we suffered no deaths; though three beasts sustained minor injuries. None required medical care. The forest might be burned, but those fallen trees will make any assault suicidal until they clear it. All in all, we gave them a bloody nose they'll not soon forget."

Robertasin dropped the papers she held and buried her head in her crossed arms. "And this is just the first day."


	26. Wobbles Reaches Redwall

"Colonel Varden said I could stay on light duty. If this is light, I'd hate seeing his idea of normal."

Wobbles muttered a few more choice words as the cart she rode in hit another bump and the healing welts on her back and bottom connected with some of the cargo. While she rode, the other slaves and guards marched from dawn to dusk at double pace. In spite of their efforts, they fell behind schedule. Instead of arriving at dawn, they reached their destination at sunset, more than a day late.

The cart hadn't yet come to a full stop when Wobbles jumped off, glad to be standing on her own feet once more. At least her earlier interrogation earned her a ride. Up front, a lady mouse dropped the trace and snarled back at her.

"I see no reason for you to complain, Wobbles." The mouse moved closer to her. The other slave had her paws clenched into fists. "You got to ride while the rest of us had to run like the wind with our taskmaster's switch tickling our backs every step of the way."

Her companion, a dour looking lady hedgehog, remained in front, catching her breath. Like Delcora, the hedgehog grumbled about her privileged status at every opportunity. Unlike the mouse, the hedgehog preferred staying out of any physical battles.

Delcora voiced her resentment and accented her comments by poking Wobbles in her chest. Wobbles slapped the mouse's paw away and went on the offensive. She shoved Delcora hard enough that it drove her two paces back. As usual, the hedgehog gave her friend all the verbal support she wanted while remaining far from any confrontation.

"I earned these two golden disks because our masters know I get the job done." Her comment silenced the hedgehog and now Wobble's finger pointed at the mouse. "You, Delcora, have been with the Horde five years and are yet to earn a second white because you're lazy."

Delcora balled her fists. Wobbles prepared to meet the challenge. The mouse cocked her arm ready to punch Wobbles when a sharp voice commanded their attention. Both Wobbles and Delcora stopped their fight, though each gave the other a sideward glance.

"There be none of that. Settle your differences later, after you finish your work. No guard will interfere, though I know a few who wouldn't mind wagering on the fight if you two don't mind an audience." He laughed a mirthless laugh. "We might even offer an incentive if the fight provides enough entertainment."

Wobbles gave Delcora a predatory smile that dared her to accept the challenge. She bested Delcora in an earlier altercation, though it got no worse than a shoving match when they first came to this land. Based on the mouse's expression, a bare knuckle brawl didn't appeal to her. Delcora retreated.

With their quarrel resolved, for the moment, the guard issued his orders. "You, Delcora, those carts need unloading. Wobbles, grab a keg of ale and get it to the Brigadier's tent."

While Wobbles hustled to obey, Delcora meandered back to where the convoy parked. As she passed the rat, he cuffed her and threatened her with even worse if she didn't move along. Now Delcora jogged toward the carts, no doubt muttering words best not heard by the guards.

Balancing the keg on her shoulder, Wobbles asked for directions to the camp. She hustled to the largest tent and approached the guards. When she drew near, they blocked her way by crossing their spears before her. She explained her presence and they moved aside. One guard lifted the flap and earned a quiet word of appreciation from her.

She placed the ale on a low table, noting the presence of a serving tray. A glance around at the gathered officers, and Wobbles took the initiative by pouring several tankards of the brew. She moved around the outer edge, serving each officer in turn. She knelt behind the wolf and held the tray. Brigadier Shawarran took the proffered mug and she retreated to the keg where she filled several empty tankards. What these officers said turned into background noise.

"Our initial assault cost us dearly, Brigadier," one ermine remarked.

Another officer chimed in with her report. "Battle casualties exceeded two hundred on the diversionary attack at the main gate. The primary attack cost us just under sixteen hundred and those who did survive cannot fight. Until reinforcements arrive, our effective fighting force is under two hundred."

Colonel Nateem offered his assessment of the battle's aftermath. "Our count shows a hundred unaccounted for; most likely they died in the fire and we are yet to recover their bodies. If they're deserters, they'll join the others on the hanging tree. I have patrols scouting the area for them, as well as any supplies we can scrounge."

The wolf withdrew his sword, Brigadier Shawarran drove the point deep into the tree stump they used as a conference table. The golden hilt caught the lantern light, and every officer stared first at the blade and then at the wolf who wielded it. Even Wobbles caught her breath as the light reflected off the red pommel stone.

"Unacceptable. I refuse to believe an ill-prepared gaggle of peaceful woodlanders can withstand the mightiest military force ever assembled. The only possible explanations for our failure, inaccurate information, insufficient supplies, or the incompetence of our soldiers."

An unidentified voice piped in. "Perhaps they were better prepared than we were led to believe."

That comment had Wobbles give a slight nod. The wolf must have seen her nodding. Brigadier Shawarran jumped upright and in three strides, had a dagger pressed against her throat.

"Does our slave desire the defeat of her betters, or do you concur with whichever officer spoke?"

Wobbles made no defensive move; instead, she stared into the face of the wolf. She kept her voice loud enough that all heard her as she respectfully responded, knowing her next words may well be her last.

"I have served the Horde for twenty years and have seen battles won and lost. In all that time, never did I desert the unit I served. My loyalty is something none should question."

The wolf kept the blade against her throat. "So you think me an incompetent fool?"

"A wise commander realizes his enemy can be just as resourceful."

The blade slid down her chest, the point traveling through the fur between her breasts until it reached her stomach. A second later, Wobbles heard the dagger settle into its sheath and exhaled the breath she had not realized she held. Without warning, the wolf's paw slammed into her shoulders. Pain raced up her body as she landed with a thud on the unyielding ground.

"Get out of my sight, slave, or I may just change my mind about letting you live."

Outside the tent, Wobbles could not stop shaking. It wasn't the closeness to death or the night chill that made her shiver as she walked. After twenty years in the Horde army, such things were commonplace. The sword the wolf held chilled her blood, fear gripped her. Seven years ago, she saw that same blade in a drug-induced dream, and she remembered the stern face of a warrior mouse with eyes that flayed your very soul.

Even though the Brigadier had not ordered her, Wobbles felt driven to check on the dead. Her mind remembered a dream where a multitude of faces flashed before her. Regardless of the sex or species of the creature, there remained one constant. The sword, every warrior held it.

Wobbles wanted to convince herself the dream and the blade unrelated. She tried dismissing the reality, thinking the sword just a coincidence. That too failed. Wobbles couldn't imagine another such weapon. The sword in her dream and the one held by the Brigadier were indeed, one and the same.

_I must see the warrior's face, if it matches the one from my dream, than the prophecy is coming true_.

The soldiers assigned to guard detail at the burial site did not stop her. They seemed relieved when Wobbles announced she had been placed in charge. Many of the guards withdrew far enough away that the wind dissipated the smell and they did not have to look at the dead. Though one never got use to the stench, Wobbles learned long ago how to mask her aversion.

She stood aside and watched as half a dozen slaves shift the dead into one of two carts. As they carried the bodies, Wobbles examined the faces. Most wore a charred Horde uniform, and her eyes slid over them like an ill-placed paw on ice. Any creature not dressed as a soldier she examined, checking its species. Some of these were the unfortunate slaves assigned ladder duty during the frontal assault; none of them survived. A few wore a simple brown habit, which marked them as beasts from the citadel.

With the carts loaded, she led the way across a makeshift bridge and around a low hill. There she found other slaves digging a massive pit. To the side, bodies awaited their final resting place. As Wobbles moved about the field, she glanced at the dead. Like those outside the camp, most wore the uniform of the Horde.

Then one body caught her attention. She knelt down, examined the face and shuddered. She knew this mouse, not by name, but by appearance. He showed signs of advanced age, yet his body showed a well developed physic. Her paw reached out and felt the strong arm muscles. She noted the many injuries he had suffered before dying and knew this one had to be a warrior.

Her hunt finished, she moved further down the trail. She stood there watching the others finish the mass grave. None of the slaves needed her supervision and the soldiers never questioned her presence. Within her mind, Wobbles replayed the witch's prophecies.

xxxxx

Delcora rested by leaning her shoulders on the shovel she held. Removing a clod of dirt from the earthen wall, she tossed it at her friend, Tergello. The hedgehog acted like she was digging, but did nothing more than shift some of the loosened dirt from her left side to her right and back again. Delcora dragged her shovel along the ground until she stood next to Tergello.

"What's so important that you risk having us placed on report for malingering?"

Delcora joined her friend, scrapping the thinnest layer of soil so the guards continued past them as they patrolled the perimeter of the grave. When she spoke, she whispered. Best none of the guards hear what she said.

"That snotty squirrel is prancing about, giving orders again. But something weird just happened."

One overzealous guard approach and they ceased their conversation. With the guard watching them, they gave full effort to loading the wheelbarrow assigned to them. The guard remained nearby and despite their best efforts; the shoveled dirt soon filled it. With no other option, they lifted the wheelbarrow and with a hearty grunt, pushed it uphill to the appropriate spot. On their return to the burial site, the guard continued his patrol, leaving them unmonitored. Delcora spoke as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

"I saw her fondling a dead mouse like he was some long-lost relative or lover. Then I heard her speak about some prophecy that involves our Brigadier. Mark my words, Tergello, I'll use that against her someday and then I'll be wearing those golden disks."

Everyone returned to the holding area once the last shovelful of dirt covered the bodies. Wobbles spoke to a friend about what had happened. She kept her voice low as she didn't want any of the other sleeping slaves disturbed. When Wobbles was certain none of the guards were near, she finished her story.

"I recognized that mouse as the one I saw in a prophecy given me seven years ago. I have been scared in many a battle, but never terrified. My fate depends on knowing which is more important, honor or loyalty. I hold the key and know not which door to unlock."

Unbeknown to Wobbles, Delcora overheard everything. She remained motionless until certain the other slaves slept. Delcora slipped over the boundary rope and snuck into camp. She dodged from shadow to shadow, keeping herself hidden in the dark until she reached the back of Brigadier Shawarran's tent. Deft fingers slackened one guy rope and she crawled under the loosened tent wall.

When she tried standing, a foot pinned her to the ground and something sharp tapped the back of her head. "A slave sneaking into my tent at night? I know promotions through assassination is not uncommon. I removed a senior officer and turned a rout into victory. The rest is history. I wonder which officer felt the need for a bloody promotion."

The wolf turned the light up enough that he could see, but not enough to alert the two guards outside his tent. She stood, the blade always hovering near her heart. The wolf patted her down, his paws checking her body for any hidden weapon. When he finished, he sat on his bed, facing her.

"You have no weapon. I know you don't have the nerve to kill me, even if I slept. I see it in your eyes. You must have another reason for slithering under my tent like an adder." The wolf smirked. "No, not an adder, more like a harmless worm."

Delcora ignored the insult. "I have information you need, something vital. I'm here to bargain a trade."

"For your freedom?" The wolf almost laughed when she answered no. "There are proper channels. What do you have that you consider worth risking your life? Speak, if what you say has value, we shall bargain. If not, my interrogators can always use test subjects for untried forms of torture. Need I say more?"

This isn't how she envisioned their conversation. Delcora intended teasing the Brigadier as she negotiated her best deal. She knew he never made idle threats, which left her no alternative.

"Wobbles concealed information about a prophecy concerning this Abbey. I overheard her say it involved you, Colonel Nateem and Captain Purrnella."

The wolf entertained himself by tossing his blade from paw to paw. Her statement startled the wolf and he dropped the blade. He retrieved it and placed it in its sheath. His eyes bored into her.

"You have my attention. Tell me what you want."

Not only did she survive, the Brigadier wanted to know what she wanted. Her moment of glory and revenge. Delcora savored her victory.

"I want to wear a gold disk in each ear. I know how to read and am competent with numbers. An educated slave should serve officers and not with lowly grunts."

With a casual wave of his paw, the wolf gave her permission to speak. Delcora told the Brigadier everything she knew. When she finished, the wolf approached the entrance of his tent. He stood there for several moments, speaking in hushed whispers. At last he returned.

The wolf approached her, his paw open. Brigadier Shawarran held two golden disks. He pinned a gold disk above the white one she wore in each ear. Delcora strutted about the tent as she fondled those earrings. Now she served officers and held a position of power. She need not jump every time that squirrel snapped her fingers. Vengeance never tasted so sweet.

Brigadier Shawarran called her over. Delcora stepped closer. She never saw the dagger he plunged into her belly. The pain proved greater than any she experienced. She knew the blow fatal and looked at the wolf.

"If you're willing to betray a friend for such a trifling thing, then I fear someday you'll betray me. You told me everything you knew, so you have no further value. At least I spared you a long and lingering death with my interrogators."


	27. Emissary

With the coming of morning, Wobbles found herself summoned to Brigadier Shawarran's tent. Inside, she faced two officers. The wolf she recognized as her commander and showed her respect and subservience by first dropping to her knees. As protocol dictated, she bowed deep enough that her forehead touched the ground. Since she wore two golden disks in each ear, she came to parade rest until given her orders.

The second officer, a fox, handed her a sealed scroll and a flag of truce. Wobbles listened to her instructions and with a quick nod, accepted the items. The wolf dismissed her, she spun around, and quick-marched outside. The fox spoke just as she exited the tent.

"You know they will kill her for such treachery."

"Than we lose one slave," replied her commander.

Wobbles had no chance to fathom their conversation. She had her duty, regardless of the dangers. For the first time, Wobbles got to see the impressive structure in the light of day. As she marched up the road, she gazed on the fortress that defied the might of the Horde. In her years of service, she had seen many such structures and a simple glance told her this one had been well-designed for defense.

She drew within a dozen paces. A stone struck the road but a short distance before her feet, while three more ricocheted off the pavement behind her. Wobbles raised her head and scrutinized the many defenders standing along the ramparts. The hairs on her back tingled. Her life might end if these creatures didn't honor her call for truce.

From the top of the wall, a deep voice boomed out. Wobbles didn't know who spoke, but did recognize the voice as male. Since she still lived, she called back to the unknown defender. She projected a confidence that comes from performing her duties to the best of her abilities.

"I come as an emissary from the Horde, approaching your castle under a flag of truce. If such customs are recognized by any civilized creatures living here, accord me the honor and respect an ambassador deserves. Otherwise, dismiss me and I'll withdraw in peace."

A cacophony of voices roared down upon her and in those voices, she heard many threats and boasts. Wobbles did not move, even when her flag took a stone and another bounced off the road. She did not react to the one that hit her side. The noise receded enough that she felt certain her voice would be heard.

"My words are for the one known as the Mother Abbot and whichever beast commands the garrison within these walls. I shall not shout like some benighted market haggler, but insist on a face to face meeting. Will you come out and speak or shall I report to my master you have refused our efforts at resolving our conflict without further loss of life?"

"What business do you have with our Mother Abbot," a different male shouted.

Wobbles ignored the voice that shouted down from atop the high battlement. She had made her point quite clear, speak as civilized creatures are supposed to do when they parley or dismiss her. She waited in silence.

Wobbles stood at attention, holding the flag of truce. Her eyes fixated on the massive door before her and she allowed no other sight or sound to distract her. Such was her concentration that Wobbles tuned out all but the door before her. She studied every grain in each timber; even the buzzing flies and gnats milling about did not affect her.

She recalled another time when she had been chosen for such a high honor by her commanding officer. Wobbles remembered marching with pride at the rear of their army, carrying the banner of a conquered nation. That was the time she led a formation of some fifty slaves, each bearing the flag of some vanquished unit. Never had she felt such pride.

She had been given an assignment by Brigadier Shawarran and would not return until the mission had been completed. The wolf explained the dangers but called her the best emissary available. Such lofty praise and such an important task made her swell with pride. Her initial fears dissipated since the armed defenders had not fired a second volley.

A shadow extended onto the door, covering almost half of the first beam. Then the sound of wood sliding on wood came to her ears. The sounds continued for several seconds before the small door within the larger one swung inward on silent hinges.

From the darkness beyond the open door, a voice called. It conveyed an attitude like some high noble from home, a superior unwilling to subjugate themselves to any beast of a lower class. Wobbles did not recognize his voice. She took that as a positive sign. Some inner sense told Wobbles the speaker had the rank and authority to receive the message she carried.

"Speak, Emissary, and we will listen. Or, if you wish, you may enter with the assurance that we will release you unharmed."

"My master has commanded that I speak with you on an urgent matter, out here where all can see."

A female voice called out with a softer tone than the male. "Emissary, your master ordered you to speak with us, and we will, but only if you come inside."

Brigadier Shawarran emphasized having them come to her was imperative. Wobbles remembered the wolf's explanation and saw the logic behind it. Force the defenders outside and she gained a position of dominance. Despite her lowly status, when they left the Abbey, she held power over them. Wobbles took three steps back.

"My orders are clear; we must do this beyond your gates. What have you to fear? I carry no weapon and our army is camped beyond the trees."

It was the male voice that responded and its tone contained a note of anger. "Liar. Even now we can see at least two soldiers within striking distance."

Her confidence never wavered, though she took a moment scanning the field. Wherever she looked, the landscape showed no other soldier. This angered Wobbles and when she faced the blackness framed by the open door, she did not hide that emotion.

"There is no soldier within sight, sir. Unlike your rabble, we honor a flag of truce. I can forgive ignorance, but your force fired several stones my way after I identified myself. One hit my flag and another struck me. Your actions are disgraceful. I remain here because I serve my masters with honor and dignity. Do you dare deny the truth behind my words?"

No sound came from beyond the open door. Once more, she assumed a pose of rigid attention. She continued holding her head high, knowing she represented an army that considered honor and duty synonymous.

"What if we prove you wrong, Emissary," asked the male voice.

_Impossible!_ Wobbles accepted the challenge. The male issued orders like a drill instructor and she acted on them. After reversing course, she marched forty paces before he had her pivot to her right. She counted another fifteen paces off the road until the male yelled halt.

Wobbles planted her flag into the soft soil and relaxed her rigid military posture. With a swift turn in place, she looked over the wide expanse and smirked. Nobody was visible. _I knew no soldiers would be here, but best I humor theses Abbey beasts before returning to parley_. She examined the ground closer to her.

Then she spotted the anomaly. She discovered a slight rise to the flat ground and what appeared to be a square cave. Wobbles moved closer and as she did, she noticed the dirt-covered sailcloth dyed an earthen color. She looked back at the Abbey and then returned her gaze to the object before her.

As she bent down, the cloth was yanked aside by somebody hidden beneath it. Once the dust cleared, four armed members of the Horde stood. Each soldier had a crossbow bolt strung and ready. The four rats gave her a withering glare as they folded the cloth and without speaking a word, withdrew.

When they had gone more than halfway to the woods, the male voice demanded her attention. Wobbles lifted her flag and once again followed the instructions of her unseen drill instructor. She marched thirty paces to the left before she stopped.

This time she knew what to look for and soon spotted the opening. She walked within a single pace before she knelt. Like the other sniper's blind, a piece of sailcloth dyed the color of the surrounding field and covered with dirt hid it. Had she not been directed to the exact spot, she would never have seen it. Unlike the other blind, nobody within stirred.

"If anyone is under this cover, the defenders know you are here. You fool no one. Perhaps you didn't know that I am operating at the explicit orders of Brigadier Shawarran and stand before you under a flag of truce. Withdraw now or I will expose you."

When nothing happened, she yanked on the cloth. Four soldiers stood, all armed with cocked and loaded crossbows. One of the four rats was an officer and she took exception to her actions.

"We have been lyin' out here since the hour before dawn and you saunter on by and ruin everythin'. You're goin' to pay for wastin' our flippin' time out here. And that's a promise."

Wobbles cocked her head sideways, giving her comments some thought. Wobbles felt confused. Did Brigadier Shawarran know about the two sniper's nests? What was their mission? Would they have fired while she negotiated or did these rats intend holding fire until negotiations ended? Was this the treachery the fox spoke about after she left her commander's tent? Either was a breach of honor she thought no high ranking officer capable of doing.

Wobbles knew she appeared as deceptive as any collection of bandits. A look at the closed door proved that. She made her way to the road and gazed back at the retreating rats. Whatever credibility she had, those soldiers destroyed it.

Her mission had ended in failure. Worse yet, the honor of the Horde had been besmirched. Perhaps, she thought, something might be salvaged. Lifting her flag, Wobbles came to rigid attention and marched back to the gates of Redwall. Several stones struck near her and a few flew so close that her fur sensed their passage.

Once again, she stood at the exact place where she had last addressed the unknown male voice. She came to attention and watched the afternoon shadow stretch across the door. Just as the line between light and darkness reached the far side, the small door opened.

A buck hare exited. In stature, they were evenly matched, though his ears made him look taller. His fur reminded her of the snows that covered the high mountains back home and she marveled at how well groomed he appeared. The male carried himself with the bearing of an officer who served the military and his attire reminded her of a uniform.

In one paw he carried a small metal shield, and in the other he held a rapier. Its keen point pressed against her breast, just where her heart thumped at a rapid pace. Wobbles licked her lips, but did not flinch when the hare nicked the skin and drew a bead of blood.

"Emissary, I am General Markus of the Fourth Salamanderstron Army, a unit of the Long Patrol. In accordance with military law, I hereby inform you that you have violated all standards of civilized warfare by trying to assassinate us under a flag of truce. Can you give me one reason why I should not execute you for your crime?"

"I spoke the truth when I said none were here. Their presence was not known to me and if it had been, I would insist we speak inside. A flag of truce that does not protect all is less than worthless."

A female voice ordered the hare to sheath his sword and he did so. Once the blade disappeared, a creature dressed in a flowing robe of green stepped beyond the doorway. Based on the information given to her earlier, she faced the Mother Abbot.

Lifting her paws, the Abbess pushed the cowl off her head and revealed her face. Her fur was black; her facial bones outlined by a thin line of grey, which gave her a sculptured look. One eye appeared a milky green while the other displayed a deep emerald color. Her response to the Mother Abbot's appearance did not escape the black squirrel's attention.

"Your reaction makes me think we have met before, though I cannot recall your face."

"No, Mother Abbot, we have never met." Wobbles removed the scroll Brigadier Shawarran gave her that morning. "This scroll contains our terms for your surrender. You will advise us come morning as to your decision."

After the hare took the scroll, the Mother Abbot spoke. Her voice sounded soft and pleasant, yet it contained a note of righteous determination. "We accept this from somebody who has demonstrated her honor and her integrity. It took courage standing before us after such treachery. Will you at least identify yourself, Emissary, so we may call you by name?"

"My name is unimportant, Mother Abbot. Listen carefully to my words. During the time I served the Horde, I have known many different commanders. All have acted with honor, until now. I fear Brigadier Shawarran might be the exception. Don't trust his terms."

Having delivered the Horde's ultimatum and her personal message, Wobbles marched back down the road. She wondered whatever possessed her to add that warning. She would have to guard her tongue when she reported to the Brigadier. Others had been executed for saying less.

Wobbles gave her report. Birgadier Shawarran never looked away from the paper in front of him. The wolf continued writing his message after she finished. A knock on the tent's pole had the wolf raise his eyes. A tall ermine marched within a pace of the Brigadier.

"Lieutenant, I have an important dispatch involving this slave and Captain Slyclaw, deliver it personally. You are to transport our more seriously injured by cart back to Ferretville." The wolf turned his eyes on her. "Select seven other slaves to assist our injured. I want both of you gone within the hour."

Five relaxing days passed. She enjoyed the peaceful ride, finding the duty of serving the wounded easy. As she rested, her mind replayed the incident at the gate. Like a thorn stuck in her paw, the snipers plagued her mind. If she came under a flag of truce and those soldiers hid there first, did Brigadier Shawarran intend honoring the parley? Something told her the wolf had willingly sacrificed his integrity.

Such thoughts were interrupted when the ermine riding next to the driver screamed. As Wobbles turned forward, the Lieutenant's body topple off the cart. The driver snapped the reigns. An arrowhead protruding from the sideboard confirmed his frenzied warning.

She risked a quick look. Two carts had toppled when the ponies pulling them, died under a cloud of arrows. Wobbles watched the third pony collapse with several spears in his flank. That cart fell over, spilling its cargo of wounded creatures and the slaves serving them. Rebels swarmed over them like ants at a picnic. The cries of the fallen reached a crescendo before they were silenced. She worried about the slaves, did they die too?

Then her eyes focused on the back of the cart. Two grey paws hung onto the edge and as Wobbles stared, a rebel struggled to gain a foothold. The invader held a dagger in his mouth while trying to climb inside the racing wagon. Her eyes darted toward the driver, but his attention remained focused on the road, unaware of the danger.

She viewed the fierce countenance of the rebel and shivered. _If he gets inside, we die. I must stop him_. For a second, the two locked eyes. It was the angry squirrel, the one that vowed to free her. He froze in place, a startled look on his face.

Without conscience thought, Wobbles stretched out her paw. She lunged towards the squirrel. Her fingers felt the fur running along his chest and she tried gripping him. The cart bounced over a rut, dislodging the intruder just as her fingers closed. Wobbles leaned over the back of the cart as the male tumbled along the roadway.

The speeding wagon crested the hill and then slowed, even though Wobbles could still hear the driver snapping the reigns. Despite the abuse, the animal gradually stopped. With a whinny, the exhausted pony dropped to his knees and died.

The driver checked behind him. The fox unsheathed his sword, ready to fight. Then the rebel squirrel surprised both Wobbles and the Horde soldier when he turned and retreated. They stared at each other for a few seconds, looked where the rebel had stood, and back again. They repeated the motion, but then faced forward when a branch snapped.

"Good thing our patrol arrived." said a Horde officer. "Those insurgents have been getting more brazen with every succeeding raid."

While Wobbles carried a stretcher to Ferretville, she replayed the raid over and over again in her confused mind. Did she really try helping that rebel? Was she about to betray the army she served for over twenty years? She had no answers, and that, more than anything else, kept her quiet during the long march.


	28. The Key to Victory

The fortress home of the badger king within FieryMountain depressed Captain Serenity. The enlisted soldiers whispered about the death of close friends. Lower ranked officers equated upcoming assignments with an execution, only the where and when remained unknown. The higher ranked officers cringed if any rumor placed them in command of a unit destined for combat. Regardless of how many windows the household staff workers opened, the stench of defeat filled every room and hallway.

She walked through the fortress of Salamanderstron deep in thought. The many beautiful tapestries Captain Serenity passed never registered on her mind as she replayed the latest meeting of the War Council. News regarding the many defeats suffered by the Long Patrol disturbed her as much as the siege at Redwall Abbey. She worried about her father fighting a guerilla war and her mother back home.

Her brother, Thorn, often voiced his concerns for the residents trapped at the Abbey but other dignitaries affiliated with kingdoms under attack clamored for King Brisson's attention. Whenever he could spare the time from caring for the many children that accompanied him, Thorn demanded whatever news his sister possessed. It hurt Serenity telling him Redwall must stand on its own without revealing the Northern Alliance's own disastrous war record.

Turning the corner, Captain Serenity spotted the one other inhabitant she preferred avoiding. At the far end of the corridor stood a tall, female hedgehog whose ears came within a whisker of the badger's brow. It was the Countess Dorsattin Sharpae, First Noble of the High Council. Judging by the way the hedgehog approached, Captain Serenity anticipated no chance of avoiding her attention.

Captain Serenity admitted the hedgehog knew what royalty considered fashionable. The Countess wore a knee-high skirt of the finest dark blue silk embroidered with silver and gold thread that caught the light and any wayward eye when she swiveled her hips. The hedgehog's quills stood erect, indicating confidence, though they had been trimmed to a modest length. Even her tan fur appeared feathery soft thanks to one of the Lady's many servants. The Countess carried a folded fan like an officer's swagger stick.

"Why Captain Serenity, I have been looking for you ever since this morning's meeting."

With a flick of the hedgehog's wrist, the ornate fan expanded. Its multicolored fabric caught Serenity's attention as the Countess fluttered it before her muzzle. The Countess gave another twist of her wrist and now the open fan rested against her bosom. Its colored bands highlighted against the white fabric of her blouse.

"I'm sorry, Countess Sharpae, the bad news from the front has me searching for some remedy to this Horde invasion, just like the Command Staff of the Long Patrol."

The fan snapped shut and Serenity felt it tap her shoulder. "Please, when we are in private, I would prefer you call me Dorsa, or if you must be formal, Lady Sharpae. Though I do think a title has a way of interfering with the work that needs doing. Don't you agree?"

Captain Serenity rolled her eyes towards the rafters. It seemed incredible such a powerful personage preferred attending to social amenities more than matters of state. Both heard the news about the military being routed in every battle. If the Horde had pressed forward, this fortress would now be under siege.

"Lady Sharpae, I know your reputation. Forgive me for being so blunt, but I'm a simple soldier. I prefer a direct strike. If you have something that concerns me or this war, then speak without the riddles and insinuations common to nobility. Neither of us have time for such maneuvers."

Now the fan opened with an audible pop, leaving just the eyes visible over the top edge. When it dropped below Lady Sharpae's chin, the hedgehog's expression appeared blank. She moved to the nearby window but kept her eye on her. The fan continued its methodical wave for a few moments before if ceased. The hedgehog beckoned Captain Serenity over and pointed to the harbor.

"See the warship? It serves as the flagship to my father's navy and brings news that might prove useful. Perhaps if we presented this information to the King, he would be grateful."

Captain Serenity saw through the manipulation. She knew the Countess had a reputation for brokering deals among the nobles. Before the war, she used that talent so well she became First Noble. However, the war ruined many of those arrangements and now several High Council members sought her position by undermining her authority. Captain Serenity suspected Lady Sharpae feared an upcoming vote might topple her.

She tried excusing herself, but the hedgehog grabbed her paw. For the first time, she looked at a frightened lady trying to maintain her position of power. When Captain Serenity discovered the hedgehog's weakness, she attacked like any military person would do. Her sudden change from avoiding the Countess, to one courting her favor, did not go unnoticed by the consummate politician.

Lady Sharpae tried asserting control with her title but Captain Serenity's verbal assault turned relentless. After a heated debate, the Countess promised her support for relieving Redwall Abbey. Captain Serenity got what she wanted but saw no chance of success since every noble clamored for the King's help against the invaders. While the Countess continued fanning herself, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small currier's pouch.

"I know the information must be valuable, Captain. My father would never waste the time of a Fleet Admiral as a simple courier. Protocol requires me to submit this to the Council first, which I am reluctant to do. If it comes from me, others will debate its merits until its value disappears. I cannot allow that. As one not beholden to any sovereign, you gain nothing showing this, though I do expect credit where credit is due."

Serenity read the report. She did it a second time. After securing the papers in the pouch, she retraced her steps without saying a word to the waiting hedgehog. Lady Sharpae call out and Serenity beckoned her with a vigorous motion of her paw. As she dashed to the Grand Audience Hall, the hedgehog's satin slippers slapped the marbled steps in time with her heavy sandals.

She rounded the corner and charged the entrance to the Hall. Before each double set of doors, two hares stood guard while an armed squad augmented their numbers. As she raced down the hallway, the soldiers at the doors crossed their pikes, acting as a barrier to her progress. The other guards assumed a defensive posture. When Serenity tried passing, the squad's commanding officer made it quite clear nobody could enter the room.

Lady Sharpae made her presence known. The hedgehog reached for the doorknob, only to have the hare guards block her progress. The Countess turned on the highest ranking officer she saw and stood so close their muzzles almost touched. As she spoke, her voice climbed several octaves as she verbally assaulted the buck hare.

"Move aside, sir. You are delaying the Countess Dorsattin Sharpae, first born daughter to the Earl of Vertgreen, heir to the throne, betrothed to the oldest son of Count Flingspike, commander of the Imperial Third Fleet, and the duly elected leader of the High Council of Ruling Nobles. By the rights granted me by my titles, I may demand an audience with the King whenever I wish and with whomsoever I designate."

The officer's ears showed a slight twitching before every hare came to rigid attention. Nothing blocked the door. The Countess tapped her foot on the floor until Captain Serenity got the hint. With a muttered apology for the delay, she turned the handle and followed Lady Sharpae inside.

The room beyond the doors had been carved out by artisans with the talent for manipulating stone. It measured perhaps two hundred paces long and a third that in width. Even a squirrel would find its dizzying rafters a challenge. Along the north wall a dozen windows stood open to the sunlight's rays that flowed into the room.

Captain Serenity never had a reason to enter this room. Its ornate chandeliers, the thick carpet and rich tapestries bedazzled her. As the two of them walked to the opposite end of the chamber, she passed under the many national banners hanging from the high rafters. Up ahead, she saw King Brisson, ruler of the Northern Alliance, in conference with several hares, each wearing the insignia of General.

Lady Sharpae maintained a regal pace, always keeping two steps ahead of her. The hedgehog stopped several paces from the King and executed a deep curtsy. When the King acknowledged her presence, she rose. The Countess addressed the boar badger with the appropriate degree of deference.

"Your Majesty, we bring you news that came within the hour. Captain Serenity believes it to be of vital importance, and I beseech you to grant her an audience."

King Brisson said nothing. Captain Serenity took that as his tacit permission. She first handed the papers to the King before turning to the maps strewed across the conference table. As she hunted down the appropriate maps, King Brisson read the document, then passed it to Grand Marshal Eytomin, supreme military commander of the Northern Alliance. By the time the last hare read the material, Captain Serenity had everything ready.

"We kept wondering why the Horde never followed-up its victories; why they never pressed their advantage. This scroll explains their reasoning. Their primary objective hasn't been the annihilation of our army, but securing a sufficient food supply. Once they have solved that problem, then their focus will shift to attacking our forces."

Captain Serenity pointed to each chart in turn. "They captured a slaughterhouse here, a major grain elevator here and in this battle, they took one of the largest root cellars of the Northern Alliance. In each case, they allowed our forces to retreat."

The assembled hares maintained a blank expression. Captain Serenity threw her paws up in exasperation. "Oh come on now, Generals. Put it all together, merchant ships loaded with supplies instead of soldiers hugging the coast and the Horde seeking food stockpiled ahead of their marching army."

One hare General grasped the significance of this new information. The fellow drummed his paws on the table in exuberance. A moment later, each officer joined in the celebration. Frowns turned into wide smiles, one female general giggled. The senior officer turned to his Liege and almost shouted the joyous news.

"Not one of us saw the obvious. The Horde doesn't have enough food. They timed their attack to coincide with the spring harvest and the summer planting. The invaders expected lush fields that could support their units. None knew the Western regions suffered a terrible drought which blighted the crops. If they intend pushing ahead, they need their supplies transported by ships anchored as close to the front as possible and they also must continue to forage. Our navy is making such voyages too dangerous."

King Brisson approached the large map displaying the progress of the invaders. His fingers traced the path from the first reported sighting and through the conquered lands. He tapped the location of each quay raided by the fleet and the locations of each enemy ship sunk or captured since the war began. His paw slammed onto the table as he gave an exuberant bark.

"If our enemy intends defeating us, they must destroy our army, but they first need a secured supply source. Destroy their supply ships, deny them any stockpiled food on land, and we will force them into a confrontation of our choosing."

Now the real business of winning the war commenced. Each general checked the region ahead of the invaders. Lady Sharpae pointed out stockpiled food and the Generals examined the surrounding countryside. The hares discussed strategies and plans made for the ultimate confrontation between the two opposing forces. Captain Serenity wanted a pivotal role in the upcoming battle, as well as access to the city's blacksmiths. The King granted both her requests.

xxxxx

Colonel Nateem hurried across the camp and flung open the canvas door to Brigadier Shawarran's Command Tent. Inside, he accepted a towel and dried the heavy rain off his fur. The last thing he wanted to do was fling water droplets throughout his superior's office.

"I'm not sure which I hated more, the month of drought or a week of nonstop heavy rains. This cursed weather has played havoc with our troops, Brigadier. Our foraging parties range further and return with less. The soldiers are already on three-quarters rations and if things don't improve soon, we'll be going to half rations."

The tall wolf faced him with a look as angry as the storm clouds marching across the skies. The Brigadier's paw rested on the hilt of the golden sword while he paced the area behind the table he used as a desk. He remained silent for a moment before he returned to the large-scale drawing of Redwall Abbey.

"What about our latest attack? Do you have an explanation as to how woodland farmers defeated us?"

Yesterday, Colonel Nateem ordered a thousand soldiers into battle against one section of the Abbey's defenses. The open field removed all chance at surprise and the defenders rallied in large numbers on the parapets. Slaves carrying their last supply of scaling ladders and grappling hooks led the way.

When the attack began, the first few warriors passed over a wide ditch a hundred yards from the wall. These soldiers encountered no opposition as they crossed the depression and the rest soon followed. As the massed soldiers passed over the bottom, the combined weight of so many collapsed the camouflaged covers. Many plunged into pits filled with sharpened stakes while others tried to avoid the revealed traps. Anyone unfortunate enough to cross the narrow passageways between the pits died from the defender's arrows. Colonel Nateem sounded recall rather than witness the continual slaughter of his fighters.

He decided it might be far more prudent focusing his commander's attention on his efforts at countering the defense. Nateem explained how he ordered heavy rocks rolled from the river and into the wide trenches. He omitted the number of soldiers lost in the initial attack and in their subsequent efforts at locating other hidden traps. Colonel Nateem knew the loss of soldiers and equipment made further attempts impossible until replacements arrived from Ferretville.

Brigadier Shawarran growled while he described the failure of their latest effort. Some innate sense must have alerted his commander he had more bad news. The wolf plopped onto the wooden bench. A simple gesture of his paw had him continue his report.

"Isolated rebel attacks are increasing. There is a male badger leading a band of woodlanders sniping along our northern flank that has succeeded in destroying much of our food supplies. It now takes a full unit to ward off their attacks and guard the material we do find, which leaves us with a limited number of soldiers stationed here."

The wolf stared at the depiction of the Abbey's main gate. Colonel Nateem feared his commander's stony silence as it usually came before an emotional outburst.

"Another insurgent group has attacked our supply convoys using hit and run tactics. Their leader has intercepted much of what we transport. This same rebel led the attack on Ferretville that destroyed several outlying warehouses. His raids have delayed construction on the harbor by destroying valuable equipment or by freeing our workers. According to Captain Purrnella, he anticipates every countermeasure. She suspects spies among the town's residents."

"How did that wildcat become the ranking officer in Ferretville? Unless I'm mistaken, both a Colonel and a Major outrank her."

Colonel Nateem shifted his stance, worried about his commander's irate tone. "That's the final part of her report, Brigadier. This squirrel rebel leader assassinated several of our high ranking officers. His latest victim, Colonel Varden, happened two days before she sent this message. As the longest officer in grade, Captain Purrnella now commands the garrison at Ferretville."

Brigadier Shawarran's temper exploded with the violence of a volcano. With a furious motion, the wolf swept the drawings off the table, scattering them about the tent. The bench toppled. Then the wolf stomped over to the tent's canvas door, pushed it open, and stared at the heavy rain.

"Two days, that's all it was supposed to take. We have camped here six weeks and I'm no closer to victory than I was when this campaign started."


	29. Marching

"I swear all this bloody marching is wearing my feet right off my legs. It seems that's all we've done since joining the army. I don't know about you, but I expected something more adventurous than eating dust day after day."

Threadfoot sat in the shade of a tree and glanced at her companion. She wondered if she looked as worn out after a week of forced marches as Sandythorn. Right now, she didn't want to do anything but let the river's cold water rush over her swollen feet.

"Don't know why you're complaining, Threadfoot. The two of us have had some pretty good luck since boot camp. Think about it, we complete our training and both of us are offered the rank of Corporal and given our own squad to command. Or would you prefer your original orders, being a private with the High Kickin' Sixth?"

News about the elite fighting force reached the FieryMountain fortress two days earlier. None thought the news accurate, but Treadfoot knew better. As their commander's aide, she had access to official reports confirming the rumors. She almost cried when she learned about the virtual annihilation of the Sixth Army, one of the most elite units of the Long Patrol.

They numbered over two thousand battle-hardened hares and five hundred veteran warrior badgers. Two full divisions of the regular army supported them in a major offense against a numerically inferior force. When these soldiers returned to FieryMountain, the Northern Alliance's mightiest army numbered less than a hundred walking wounded. Not one badger survived the confrontation. Nothing remained of the supporting divisions. The Horde's war chariots crushed all opposition without suffering any appreciable losses.

Threadfoot's mood changed that day from one of expectation to somber reflection. If the Northern Alliance's mightiest army failed, how could an untested unit do any better? Their commander, Captain Serenity, accepted her orders as if she won some coveted prize. She wondered how her family would react to the unemotional letter confirming her death.

Captain Serenity announced their new orders and the Long Patrol Auxiliary prepared for departure. When morning came, they took to the road. Soldiers marched through Salamanderstorn to the sound of drums beating out an easy cadence while residents cheered. Those closest to the back listened to the many oxen grunt as the supply carts groaned in sympathy. Officers stood to the side of their particular unit making sure none slackened the grueling pace.

Just beyond the city, they encountered a civilian tending two oxen hitched to a cart. Captain Serenity had the soldiers load their instruments into the cart. Everyone changed out of their parade uniforms and these too, went to the civilian. Once unburdened of such unnecessary gear, they marched. Instead of music, the only sounds heard were the clinking and clanking of gear as they moved along the stone highway.

For the next six days, Captain Serenity demanded all the speed they could muster. None complained since the badger captain marched at the head of her division. If she rejected her right to ride, a privilege of her rank as the Divisional commander, they would match her pace. Each time the army rested, the formation changed. Units to the rear moved forward and away from the dust of so many marching paws.

On day seven, the unit reached their first waypoint. Weary soldiers pitched tents, grateful for the early stop. The two friends from boot camp hiked to the nearby river. She didn't want to admit it, but Sandythorn had a great idea. Threadfoot found the stream and surrounding grasslands quiet relaxing.

She picked-up a pebble and flicked it at her friend Sandythorn. "Say Boo-boo, how do you rate the readiness of your squad? You think those otters and mice can fight as well as a Long Patrol hare?"

Sandythorn never reacted to the pebble that ricocheted off her muzzle. "Give us a target and my squad will clear a path for those squirrels you command, Maggot. There's not a better bunch of warriors when they're carrying a sling."

"Never thought of squirrels as fighters, Boo-boo, but I have to admit there are a few that can challenge my skills with a sword during our workouts. When my squad gets into combat, I'll wager those tree rats I command will give the Horde something to worry about. Them beasties are going to make fine soldiers, mark my words."

Another voice intruded on their conversation. "That's what I want to hear from my officers. Confidence in their squad's ability to perform their duty."

Sandythorn recognized the voice of their unit commander, Captain Serenity. Like her friend, she jumped to attention, worried her unauthorized departure might have unforeseen consequences. She stood there minus her sandals while her companion's eyes searched for her own discarded gear.

She gazed upon the badger she remembered as a drill instructor when she first joined the military. In what many called a bizarre twist of fate, King Brisson promoted her from sergeant to Captain. The King formed a special division and placed the badger in command. Captain Serenity selected a core of hares officers and over the next four months, molded a collection of diverse woodlander species into an elite fighting unit.

The war changed everything. Instead of their unit patrolling some region for bandits, they continued training. Some welcomed the additional time in the relative safety of FieryMountain's shadow. Threadfoot sided with those hares who groused about their inactivity. After the resounding defeat the Long Patrol suffered, her opinion changed. Now she worried about their role in this war.

"I suggest you two return to camp and get some rest. We move at first light when the rafts arrive. In another day, we reach our destination. If all goes as planned, we will engage the Horde on the following morning."

Threadfoot appreciated how Captain Serenity overlooked their temporary absence from camp. As a drill sergeant, the badger insisted on strict adherence to military standards. With a full division under her command, the badger seemed more willing to overlook minor breaches of the rules.

She scrambled for her gear, almost bumping heads as her friend did the same. A quick salute and the two hustled back to their squads. It surprised her when she failed to hear the footfalls of the female badger. Threadfoot risked a look behind her. Captain Serenity stood there, facing the wide river. Perhaps the badger needed the change of scenery as much as they did.

xxxxx

Wobbles took the time to enjoy a slow stretch. She felt lucky. No, every slave in Ferretville enjoyed the same luxuries. After the town fell, the Horde commandeered a number of buildings for housing its soldiers. Slaves too received better quarters.

As a slave overlord, she shared the office of a warehouse with the other high ranking slaves. The lower ranked slaves assigned here crowded the main building. Whenever she stepped outside her quarters, the high walls surrounding the warehouse reminded her of the military slave camps back home.

She approached the main gate. Two sea rats, still in their naval uniforms, guarded the only exit. One rat challenged her, but the other whispered something and he relaxed. Once the sentries had her tag number, they allowed her to pass.

Over the last two days, it either rained, or threatened to do so. Today, a brilliant golden orb hung in an azure sky. It made her walk into town enjoyable. None of the residents gave her a second look, which allowed her time to observe them. Instead of a docile and cooperative populace, she noticed angry glances at any Horde soldier passing them. She had a feeling they resented Captain Purrnella's restrictive edicts and her habit of hanging anyone who voiced a negative opinion.

Wobbles continued to her destination. Before the invasion, the building she entered housed a squad of Peacekeepers. They still occupied the place and performed their old duties, but Horde soldiers oversaw their actions. Wobbles went to the second floor, knocked on a door and took a seat once granted permission to enter.

An old male weasel, past his prime as a soldier, greeted her. "I take it you heard the news about the rebel raid last night?" He offered her a page with a list of names and numbers. "We took roll call and these slaves are missing, presumed stolen. They were assigned to today's convoy. I'll need replacements."

"Can you get me the duty roster for the upcoming two weeks?"

He handed her a second clipboard. While she scribbled numbers, the old weasel leaned back in his chair. "I want you to take that wheelwright, Firelog, with you. He made a convincing argument for his reassignment to the Redwall siege when he visited me last night. Best you go too, Wobbles. Advise me how these rebel attacks are affecting the other slaves."

She juggled some of the more important work details, keeping workers she trusted. By late morning, she joined a large convoy transporting supplies to the soldiers near the Abbey. Six days passed without incident. She wondered if the stories of raids this far from the port more rumor than fact.

Wobbles released her grip on the cart she pulled and dropped the handlebar that ran between the two traces. She than placed both paws on the small of her back and gave a push, trying to work out the kinks from the long day. She issued a low moan as she stood, which caught the attention of another slave as she parked her wagon next to hers.

"Pulling these heavy carts isn't such an easy chore, is it Wobbles?"

"The work would go a lot easier, Tergello, if you stopped your bellyaching. I ran three slots back and heard nothing but your constant whining all day long. I'm surprised the Trailmaster didn't have your muzzle tied shut so the rest of us could have some peace and quiet. Worse yet, you've done it every day. Even in my dreams, I hear your voice gripe."

Wobbles examined each wagon, assuring herself the traces faced inward and all harnesses stowed. None needed her supervision as the work details prepared camp. A glance towards the nearby forest showed a slave detail gathering firewood while guards secured the camp's perimeter. Nothing disturbed the usual routine.

Several slaves worked on their section of the camp. Bedrolls covered the grass, but left enough room that nobody touched their neighbor. She started driving in the stakes acting as their boundary when somebody approached her.

"It looks like our luck's holding out, Wobbles. The rains have moved off and we're making good time. We'll reach Redwall Abbey by nightfall, day after tomorrow."

"You're right about that, Firelog. After that raid on Ferretville, everything has been peaceful. We only lost one cartwheel, which we replaced without delaying anyone. The credit for that goes to you. Perhaps so many soldiers has discouraged any filthy rebel attacks."

Wobbles anticipated some retort. Firelog disappointed her when he remained quiet. She gave the red-furred hedgehog a sidelong look, confused by his change of attitude. While based in Town, Firelog advocated resistance or escape. Out here, he acted like somebody supporting the Horde's efforts. It unnerved her how he seemed to read her thoughts.

"I haven't joined your side, Wobbles. What's making me so happy is getting this close to my former home. It does my heart good seeing your efforts flounder before Redwall Abbey."

"Tell the truth, spikedog. You're smitten by a certain female who got assigned long-term duty at the Abbey. Instead of asking me for a transfer, you slipped off to the Slave Master behind my back. If you hadn't convinced that weasel about the wisdom of sending you, I would have nailed your pointy hide to the nearest tree for bypassing proper channels."

"Tergello loves my stories and I enjoy her attention. It's the one good thing that's happened since my capture. Once you lose this war, I'll take her as my mate."

Wobbles wanted to vomit. How a diligent and hard-working fellow could find such a lazy beast as Tergello attractive boggled her mind. She couldn't think of a proper witty retort. Instead, she pushed the love smitten hedgehog aside, leaving him to his delusions.

The nearby stream offered her a quick diversion. She rested her feet in the water, rinsing the dust from a long day's journey out of her fur. Since she was downstream of the area designated for cooking water, she indulged in a quick wash. It refreshed both body and mind as she shook the water from her fur. Wobbles stretched out on a nearby rock, enjoying the warmth from the late afternoon sun.

A light kick to her ribs had her on her feet. An officer stood in front of her, his spear in one paw while the other held a crumpled shirt. Wobbles didn't remember working for him earlier that day, so his anger seemed misplaced. The officer threw the shirt into her face and then struck her shoulder with the shaft of his spear. His voice could waken the dead.

"You call that shirt clean? Take a good sniff and I dare you to call it clean."

Wobbles did as instructed. As she sniffed the garment, the body odor assailed her nostrils. She recognized the scent. Her expression must have showed the officer she knew the smell. The fellow grinned. The officer grabbed Wobbles by the scruff of the neck, twisted it until she yelped, and dragged her to an open area along the stream's bank. Her mind raced as she tried sorting out the contradictions. The officer leaned closer, his paw ready to strike. He whispered in her ear.

"Sorry if I'm hurting you, but we must maintain appearances. Nobody will approach if they think you're undergoing some punishment detail. There's not much time, so just listen to what I say."

Wobbles dropped to her knees and washed the uniform. As she worked, she listened while the officer told her about an upcoming rebel raid planned for tomorrow. The raiders would target the wagons for destruction and keep the guards busy during a surprise attack. In the ensuing confusion, they intended freeing as many slaves as possible.

"My commander sent that shirt hoping you understood its message. He said I was to tell you your salvation and freedom are near. Remember my instructions, it will reduce losses among the slaves."

Wobbles kept her eyes focused on the rock she used as a scrubbing board while she absorbed what he said. She awaited further instructions, but the unknown officer kept silent. Wobbles whispered a question that had plagued her mind since she first met the one she nicknamed Angry Squirrel. No reply. A quick glance behind her revealed nothing. She found herself kneeling along the riverbank alone.

Her mind whirled about like some dust devil. She wondered where her loyalties belonged. In the past, such doubts never existed. Had she learned of such a threat against the Horde in previous times, she would rush to the Trailmaster. But the dishonorable behavior of Brigadier Shawarran at the Abbey and the harsh actions of the wildcat commanding Ferretville made her question her own ethics.

By the time she returned to the slave campsite, Wobbles chose the safety of her fellow slaves. She approached a few trusted friends and passed the word, believing in their discretion. Wobbles went to her assigned wagon and hung the shirt, knowing it would act as a beacon to Angry Squirrel when the raid started. As she ate, her mind continued its bouncing ball routine between serving her masters with honor or engaging in open opposition to those that demanded her absolute loyalty.

Several soldiers approached her campfire. One of them pointed to her and she followed them. A few moments later, Wobbles stood at parade rest before the convoy's ranking officer. Five other slaves, including Firelog, knelt with their foreheads touching the ground.

"I just received word that certain personnel and vital war materials are needed at Redwall Abbey before morning. You will, therefore, depart ahead of the convoy. Be ready to travel in five minutes."

Dusk found her racing with the other slaves along a wide forest trail. Wobbles managed to grab the wet uniform and hang it on the cart she tended, worried it might endanger whichever slave replaced her. They moved past the moss-covered rock the officer described as the location for the attack. Wobbles scanned the surrounding forest, wondering where the rebels hid. For just a moment, in a high branch crossing the path, she saw the figure of a squirrel silhouetted against the moonlight. When she refocused her eyes on that branch, nobody stood there.

xxxxx

xxxxx

xxxxx

xxxxx

**Author Notes**: A slip of the finger and me forgetting to verify resulted in the wrong chapter being posted as Chapter Twenty-two. The correct Chapter Twenty-two is now posted.


	30. The Second Assault

"Tassel, what are you doing up here? I thought you were working with the sewing circle, keeping the tapestry of Martin the Warrior in good repair."

"That mouse didn't like the Mother Abbot's suggestion that I help her. Yesterday she did nothing but mutter about vermin fouling our tapestry. This morning she removed everything I did and had the other members of the sewing circle redo it."

General Markus scratched his muzzle, trying for a diplomatic response. "Perhaps your stitching wasn't to her satisfaction. I understand Lady Sydamo is a perfectionist."

"Lady Sydamo still holds a grudge." The masked badger's dissatisfaction was evident as she spoke. "Her whole family has advocated my removal as Badgermom because of the crimes I committed so long ago. I can understand their resentment. Their family lost a beloved uncle due to me, and they are not the forgiving type."

Before General Markus could respond, another familiar voice spoke out. This one carried a strong note of command and power garnered from her many years as the Mother Abbot. The female squirrel approached the two with her habit's cowl thrown back, exposing her black-furred face. Robertasin gave a slight nod as she acknowledged their greeting.

"My mistake, Tassel. I hoped Lady Sydamo might reconsider her family's grudge if she worked with you. Too bad she's so brick-headed. Based on what the other ladies tell me of your sewing skills, if you were not our Badgermom, your paws would guide the sewing circle's efforts at maintaining our tapestry."

Tassel gave the Mother Abbot a quick word of appreciation before excusing herself. They tried convincing the badger they welcomed her presence, but she insisted on leaving the two in private. When Tassel left, the tower's rooftop had but two occupants. General Markus turned on Abbess Robertasin as if she were one of his subordinates.

"How many times must I tell you not to stand along the outer wall or these towers? If even one sniper slips close enough, we might lose you. Anyway, a beast with one good eye isn't the best lookout."

Her retort had just as much fire. "The residents need to see me walking about with confidence. It gives them hope. As to the cataract in my one eye, it might dull my vision, but it hasn't blinded me yet. I have done as you suggested by remaining out of any combat situation, but I'll not cower like some dibbun under a bed at the sound of thunder."

He decided a change of topic more appropriate than repeating an old argument. "I'm a bit nervous, Mother Abbot. Every day that wolf will practice with the Sword of Martin in full sight of us. Before he leaves, he challenges us to send out a warrior to fight for it. He hasn't appeared all morning."

"Perhaps he tired of his constant taunts. Nobody believes the wolf would honor such a duel. He proved himself less than trustworthy when he tried luring us into an ambush while under a flag of truce."

General Markus never got a chance to continue their conversation. Horns sounded from across the field. He scanned the trees bordering the fields as he searched for signs of the anticipated attack. Sometimes the horns signaled nothing more aggressive than a march just beyond an archer's best range. A simple display of military might.

Horde soldiers arranged themselves in battle formation across the stream. They could do nothing over there since the water prevented any direct assault. A single horn sounded and four war machines came into view. Markus recognized three of the weapons, but the unknown one advanced first.

The strange device resembled a portable ramp, but it lacked the height needed to clear the walls. The rear half sat on twin wheels supporting the weight of several large stones while the forward half rose several meters above the attending Horde soldiers. The infantry maneuvered the object until it faced downhill. In response to a trumpet's blare, the soldiers gave a mighty push. In seconds the wheeled ramp raced across the short road and bounded into the stream, where it stopped.

"Most ingenious. Did you see that Abbess? What I thought was an unknown siege engine has turned into a bridge."

Horde slaves scurried across the makeshift bridge. As they ran back and forth, they moved the pile of rocks at the back to the downstream side of the bridge. This kept it in place. The bridge now offered a direct path from the Horde's camp to the gatehouse road.

While the Horde labored at anchoring their bridge, Abbess Robertasin rushed to the tower's base with instructions from General Markus. A few quick words to those gathered below mobilized the Abbey residents. From the courtyard, many residents strained to move the four trebuchets into position. Tassel wound the windlass as several carts transported large stones to the waiting machines.

Members of the Long Patrol rushed up the two towers flanking  
the main gate carrying a disassembled ballista for each tower. The hares hammered the pieces into place as they assembled the fearsome weapon. A sense of restless anticipation infected Markus as one hare from the opposite tower signaled they awaited his orders. He almost jumped when a doe announced her weapon stood ready.

Two siege towers and a battering ram lumbered forward. Horde soldiers climbed into the towers while others pushed from the rear. The three machines rumbled over the cobblestones as they approached the Abbey to the loud cadence of banging drums and blaring trumpets.

The machines moved downhill from the initial staging area at a fast pace. Once over the bridge, the terrain flattened and the machines lost speed. Halfway to the main gate and the gentle incline reduced their progress to that of a snail. With every step forward, the speed slowed, but not enough that they stopped.

Atop the tower, General Markus continued watching the invaders as they approached. He dodged the first arrow that sailed from one of the siege towers rolling towards the gate. He called for additional shielding when the enemy unleashed a barrage of arrows. The ballista gun crew stood by their weapon while others protected them.

General Markus ordered a flag raised. The residents within the courtyard responded to the signal. Each beast standing at the lanyard released the catch and the weapon fired. The counterweight dropped and the trebuchet hurled its stone over the wall. With insufficient time for another volley, those manning the war machines grabbed weapons and raced to their assigned positions.

The heavy stones came down with a deafening crash. They skipped across the cobblestones making a fierce rumbling noise akin to thunder as they rolled down upon the Horde's war machines. The siege tower on the right took a direct hit that pushed it off the road where it became hopelessly mired in thick oozing mud. The other projectiles missed the war machines, but crushed many a hapless warrior caught in its destructive path.

Soldiers racing from the protection of the stalled machine braved the archers and sling beasts manning the Redwall battlements. As the defenders fired, Horde archers matched them in an exchange of feathered shafts. The anguished cries of those struck by stone or arrow filled the air.

General Markus risked a look, gauging the distance. Certain that the one war machine had been disabled; he had another hare semaphore a message to the other tower. An arrow ricocheted off one merlon and its warhead nicked Markus in the side leaving a bloody gash.

"Aim for the right side. If we can crush the side support, maybe the other ballista can topple it."

The doe manning the trigger gave a grunt and swiveled the oversized crossbow to the right. Satisfied she had a clear shot, she released the huge bolt. There came the sound of the ropes snapping as the ballista released its projectile. The entire gun bounced off its support with the recoil, leaving the weapon useless and the hares manning it cursing as they scrambled for safety.

The bolt slammed into the tower's drawbridge and shattered half of it. A single breath later, a second bolt from the other Abbey tower blasted into the siege tower's side. The machine pitched over at a steep angle before righting itself. Every Horde archer standing on the roof tumbled over the sides. A lucky few landed in the mud and received minor injuries. The unfortunate landed on a rock or the road where they cared about nothing ever again.

With a loud clang, the remaining portion of the siege tower's drawbridge fell onto the top of Redwall's battlement. From his position, General Markus peered down at the wall, observing several members of his unit directing the defense. Thanks to the severe shaking the tower took, the Horde lost its suppression fire and those within remained disoriented. The defenders seized the offensive by charging across the damaged drawbridge sweeping away the attackers. A few well-placed torches and the tower spouted flames skyward.

The other ballista fired its second bolt at the tower mired in the mud. A solid hit above the drawbridge sheered off the section harboring the Horde archers. With nothing hindering the Abbey defender's, stones, arrows and bolts took their toll of the thwarted Horde attackers.

An ominous boom reverberated through the Abbey's stone wall. Markus charged to the forward facing side of the tower. The battering ram had reached the main gate. Several flaming arrows bounce off the roof protecting the battering ram, unable to lodge between the metal shields used as armor. Additional defenders took station along the tower's battlement, but could not stop the Horde's war machine. General Markus raced down the crowded stairway.

Clear of the tower, he bellowed. "One squad rally to me Have somebody alert the gatekeeper that the gate will be breached. Have every available resident standing ready to initiate the final defense."

Five hares followed him as he sprinted down the passageway between the inner and outer gates. A quick glance at the main doors showed the ram's effectiveness. With every stroke, the thick crossbeams that held the door in place bent inward. The door screeched with every pounding blow and cracks widened.

General Markus hurried as he wondered if the defenders had enough time. Spiked bars slid out of channels on one side of the corridor and the hares pulled them across the width of the passage. Once properly seated, the hares hastened to the safety of the courtyard.

Another blow came and the corridor filled with wooden darts as the door shattered. Fierce war whoops sounded as Horde soldiers flooded the connecting passageway. Those first few warriors who stepped onto the long metal spikes tried recoiling, but the press of bodies behind pushed them onto the spikes where they died acting as a bridge for their comrades.

Horde soldiers rushing down the connecting corridor stopped in their tracks as another wooden door slammed shut before them. Sealed out by this second door and having no ram, they threw their collective weight against the flimsier barrier. On the fourth rush, enough space opened that a fox made a thrust with a short sword ending the life of one hare caught unawares. As the door returned to its original position, it crushed the arm like a grape beneath a foot.

Markus raised his voice and gave the command. The hedgehog gatekeeper released the twin windlass that held the portcullis at either end in the up position. With a mighty crash both iron barriers fell into place. The long prongs impaled any Horde soldier unfortunate enough to be under it. The metal barricade seated itself. Those outside the wall tried lifting the gate without success as its weight defied their combined efforts.

Two lines of defenders armed with crossbows stood a dozen paces from the inner doors. On the command of General Markus, the wooden gates swung open and a volley of bolts killed those caught between the iron barrier and the inner doors. From slotted side openings along the passageway arrows flew and spears lanced into the Horde soldiers packed so tight between the iron gates. The passageway filled with the screams of the dying and the stench of blood and death. Some tried slipping between the iron bars despite the sharp blades that left them no avenue for escape. Death claimed more and more of those trapped between the two barriers.

One of the last remaining officers rushed the heavy grill by the inner gate. An arrow pierced his shoulder and his arm flapped against his side while blood turned the pine marten's grey arm an unnatural crimson color. He pressed his muzzle through an opening. His shouts overpowered the screams of those who suffered horrible injuries before dying. Markus knew the sound of somebody desperate to be heard.

"For the love of mercy, stop firing. We surrender. We surrender."

Markus faced the helpless creature.

"We take no prisoners. Your only choice is either die from one of our weapons or by falling on your own sword."

The pine marten screamed as another arrow pierced his hip and again he begged for mercy. Markus felt no pity for his enemy. His only thought focused on the efficiency of those defenders firing on the Horde from a place of safety. A female voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Cease fire. Unless they hold a weapon within their paws, cease fire."

The Abbess of Redwall rushed him, her eyes reflecting a determination he never saw in her before this battle. The slaughter ebbed before it came to a halt. Without a glance at him, Robertasin faced the Horde officer who begged for mercy. Markus told her to stop her advance when he judged her too close. She obeyed. When she addressed the Horde officer, her voice held as little mercy as he showed.

"If you believe in the Eternals, I suggest you beseech their intervention on our behalf. If one Horde soldier gets over our walls or inside this courtyard, we will commence slaughtering whoever remains trapped within that corridor."

The pine marten shouted down the passageway and one by one the survivors stumbled forward. Each Horde soldier bore some injury from the attack and many needed the help of comrades as they joined the only officer still living. Their forlorn facial expressions showed no joy at surviving the massacre as all must think this but a short reprieve before the relentless slaughter recommenced.

Tense moments passed. The gate shuttered and moved upward. The bodies of a dozen Horde soldiers rose with the gate before sliding off the prongs and falling to the cobblestone ground with a meaty thud. All signs of the gate disappeared within the stone archway.

Once the iron grill had lifted, several armed Abbey creatures raced down the passageway guarding two others that carried torches. Another party of woodlanders pulled the dead out of the corridor and stacked them like cordwood in the courtyard. Markus assigned a hare to guard the survivors. The hare sentry held his blood-stained club at the ready.

Woodlanders blindfolded the Horde soldiers and led them to another area. The pine marten officer requested medical treatment but Markus denied his request. The officer asked for water and somebody placed a canteen in his paws.

"Very well, Abbess, what are we going to do now? If we release these prisoners they will return to fight tomorrow or the next day. I will not feed an enemy from our larders, nor will I allow our Healer anywhere near them. Their execution would be far more compassionate than allowing them to die either of starvation or their injuries."

"General Markus, Redwall Abbey will not stoop to the same level as the vermin we fight. I want some option other than cold-blooded murder."

Tassel chose that moment to intrude on their conversation.

"If I may interrupt, I do believe I have a solution to your dilemma that will satisfy both of you."


	31. Standing Before The Brigadier

_What a night. Could things get any worse?_

Wobbles shifted her position as she rested against the wheel of her assigned wagon. The other slaves hauling the supply wagons mimicked her pose by their wagon. They had to stay in the sun as the carts couldn't be moved off the path. A spring sun might not be hot, but it did attract the gnats. After so many years in the army, she learned how to ignore the irritating insects.

The soldiers stayed off to the side of the path, where the ground offered shade and the trees provided them a comfortable backrest. If she had to guess, they must be discussing their commanding officer. Based on the looks they gave the weasel each time he passed, none of them were complimenting his efforts.

Either the lieutenant read the map wrong, or rebels changed the road markers. The fool didn't check his map before he followed them. Even with the full moon, the darkness of the forest hid nature's trap. An hour into their run, they encountered mud. Another hour passed as they ran in ankle-deep goop. When the muddy path got too deep, the carts stalled.

Soldiers scouted the trail until they found firm ground. By then, the carts sunk into the muck so deep that all five slaves working together could not pull one beyond the quagmire. They unloaded the carts, carried the goods to the clearing where the soldiers camped, freed the empty cart, and repacked everything. Once done, Wobbles had her fellow slaves repeat the process on the other four carts.

Dawn found them lost, late, and tired. The lieutenant had no choice but to admit his mistake. They backtracked. This time everybody knew about the mud. Wobbles had the other slaves empty each cart before they encountered the mud. By the time they moved everything to the proper path, daylight turned the woods into a patchwork of sun and shadows. At least the weasel commanding their group allowed everyone a long rest once they repacked the five carts.

They resumed their march, reaching camp an hour or two before noon. Wobbles took one look and knew they missed the battle. She counted no more than a dozen soldiers guarding a camp populated by more than a hundred slaves. Tent flaps moved in the light breeze, their interiors empty. When they reached the supply tents, she had the others unload everything while she followed the lieutenant to the Brigadier's tent.

A male fox listened to the lieutenant explanation. It wasn't her place as a slave to comment on the competency of the officer. She found the weasel's excuses quite flimsy. A glance at the Brigadier's aide confirmed her suspicion that he didn't believe the officer, but didn't intend confronting him about it at this time.

After he dismissed the officer, the fox turned on her. This contradicted the standard practice where the officer made his report and she supplied a list of provisions and personnel attached to the convoy. For some reason, the Brigadier's aide wanted her to speak to the wolf. When she followed the fox into the office, she found it empty.

"That's army life. First they order you to move somewhere on the double and what happens? You get where you're suppose to be and you wait. After more than twenty years of this, you'd think I would learn."

"Oh stop your grousing, Wobbles. You were expected last night and you arrive well after dawn." The male fox's expression melted from its no-nonsense expression to one of confidant. "I know your rank allows you to stand at parade rest after the Brigadier returns, but I suggest you keep your head down until he acknowledges you. He's in a foul mood and if this attack fails, you'll not want to be his first target."

Wobbles thanked the officer and sat on the floor awaiting the arrival of Brigadier Shawarran. After a long period of silence, she detected the faint sound of drums. She recognized the cadence as the one used at the start of any major offensive. No doubt the soldiers would be attacking the Abbey today in force. She didn't know if she wanted her army victorious or did she hope their efforts would be stymied by the resilient defenders.

That she even considered such a thing troubled Wobbles. She had followed many commanders as a slave to the Horde in both triumph and defeat over her twenty years. In every case she desired success for her masters and basked in their victories or sulked if they were defeated. Until now. She wondered if a different commander would have acted in such a dishonorable manner as the Brigadier at the parley. Was that the crux of her nagging discontent?

Silence returned. Left alone, Wobbles tried staying awake. Her muzzle dipped and her eyes drooped. The first time she jerked upright but the next time, she surrendered to her exhaustion.

Out of the darkness she spotted a thin grey line of light. As Wobbles drew near, this ribbon glowed as if it contained an uncountable number of candles within it. She floated closer, not even aware how she moved. She reached out her paw, her fingers brushed the light, and her mind exploded with a happy vision of her childhood. Her first master stood next to a boat she remembered. Again her finger brushed the ribbon and her mate appeared as he did before illness claimed his life.

For the third time she touched the grey ribbon of light. Wobbles saw her younger self with one paw inside a tree. The paw pulled out a shirt of many faded colors and she detected a voice that snarled in anger. Her voice. She could not see the creature that invoked such a response before the vision changed. Her younger self now raced into the forest.

In the next instant, an unexpected brilliance enveloped Wobbles. All about her became as bright as day and she looked upon an apparition she remembered from a previous drug-induced sleep. The giant spider that weaved the past, present and future approached her. Though the creature displayed no visible mouth, Wobbles could still sense what the spider said.

"Once again I have called you to my realm where all that is to be is known. You have seen the place where the prophecies will happen, and I must ask you; do you still remember everything that my servant revealed?"

"I recall the words the witch spoke to three others seven years earlier. I also remember seeing you, Spider, and the cryptic message you gave me."

"I tell you now, Wobbles, before the moon is new a third time, what has been foretold shall be fulfilled."

A sudden crash startled Wobbles and her eyes blinked opened. She remembered the light coming into the office from her right, now the beam of light shone through the canvas wall on her left. She reached up to her face and rubbed her eyes. Clarity came to her foggy mind.

Wobbles glanced towards the door and saw a male wolf enter. Brigadier Shawarran, commanding officer of the Horde army based in Ferretville, and one of the three beasts given a reading of the future some seven years earlier, slammed his office door. One glance told her everything. His expression looked as if he tasted rotten meat and his heavy footfalls shook the floorboards as he stormed over to his desk. From force of habit Wobbles placed her paws flat on the wood and pressed her forehead against the rough hewed wood. Now she understood the Aide's warning.

"Incompetents, I'm surrounded by incompetents," he shouted. "Those towers needed more weight in their bases and more armor at the top. How did those engineers forget such a simple thing?"

Again the door opened, but it closed with far less force. Wobbles stole a glance toward the creature entering the office. She knelt so close to the Brigadier's desk that all she could discern were knee-high leather boots. Wobbles pitied whatever slave served this officer since the boots were caked in heavy mud. Then she recognized the voice of Colonel Nateem.

"Brigadier, the Engineers advised against strengthening the war towers, their weight would be too heavy for the bridge and they might stall while moving up even a slight incline. If you wanted something that could withstand their defenses, then it required a stronger bridge. You didn't want to wait that long."

"Irregardless, four bloody months I've tried scaling those walls without success. We need more bodies storming that citadel if we expect to prevail."

Colonel Nateem maintained a calm voice as he spoke to the enraged wolf. He leaned on the desk within touching distance of Wobbles. The stoat tried reasoning with the Brigadier.

"Sir, even with a larger contingent of soldiers guarding our supply convoys, we are not getting sufficient food. Half our force is foraging for supplies and what they find is never enough. There are stories circulating throughout camp of open brawls when some officer tried stealing his own unit's rations. Last night I stopped one fight over the spoiled cast-offs we feed slaves."

There came the sound of a heavy body dropping into a chair as the wolf's voice lowered in pitch. Somehow, neither officer noticed her presence; she remained silent. A heavy knock interrupted their conversation and another pair of boots enter the room.

"Lieutenant, you were beyond that iron portcullis when it dropped. An hour later, you and fifteen enlisted soldiers came crawling out of a sally port. Tell me, why did they let you go free?"

"After our capture they took us to the blacksmith's forge. There a hideous monster held our right paw on the anvil. A huge hedgehog then removed our thumb with a pair of bolt cutters. After binding our paw, they blindfolded us and pushed us into the passageway leading outside. As the only officer, I thought you would want to hear my report personally."

"You're right, Lieutenant, and now I have a message you can deliver to every soldier under my command."

Wobbles heard a low grunt from the unknown officer. Something fell next to her and she turned her head towards the sound. The pine marten's face appeared no more than the span of her paw away from her nose. Blood oozed from his mouth as death glazed over his eyes. She recoiled with a startled squeal.

A tin cup tumbled from the paw of Colonel Nateem and clattered on the wooden floor. The stoat's wide eyes reflected shock as he stepped away from the body. The wolf's wild expression and the blood dripping from the golden blade had both Wobbles and Nateem retreating, least the Brigadier turn his wrath on one of them.

Shawarran approached her, his blade now lifting her muzzle. She looked at the wolf and saw madness in his eyes. Wobbles leaned away from the sharp point nicking her throat. Such was her fear that she whimpered. The wolf pressed the sword's point against the base of her throat, cutting the skin. He sliced through her garment scoring her flesh until the sword rested above her heart. A trickle of blood flowed between her breasts staining her ragged garment. The cut burned as salt from her perspiration dripped into the wound.

"When our messenger returned and told me you accompanied the convoy, I decided we needed to have a private conversation. Everyone believes Delcara died as a deserter. I killed her because I could no longer trust her, much like I cannot trust you, Wobbles. Before she died, Delcara said you withheld information about our prophecies. Information we needed. That's something no slave may ever do. Reveal everything or your life ends here and now."

Wobbles talked. She reminded Colonel Nateem about the burning dog armed with a golden sword. She again told the wolf about a treasure guarded by a demon. Then she spoke of her vision and the three creatures she saw. The only information she held back related to the prophecy given to her. The wolf withdraw his blade as she concluded her recollection.

"One creature, a mouse, carried the sword you now hold," she said. "Another face I recognized when you sent me to parley. It was the Mother Abbot. The third creature, a badger, terrified me, but I am yet to meet such a beast. All of these prophecies will come to pass if we continue fighting here."

Colonel Nateem whispered into the wolf's ear and as he did, the madness Wobbles saw in the Brigadier's expression ebbed. A nod from the wolf and the stoat released his grip on the wolf's sword arm. Wobbles breathed a lot easier when Brigadier Shawarran sheathed his blade and returned to his chair.

"Fortunately, I have an alternative plan that should become operational in four or five weeks. Until then, have half our forces hunting down that badger snipping along our northern flank. Perhaps he is the badger from Wobble's vision. If we eliminate him, we thwart the prophecy."

The Aide de Camp poked his head into the office. The wolf accepted the piece of paper offered and read it. The madness that had faded just a few moments ago roared back with a vengeance. Brigadier Shawarran swept his desk clear of everything as he let loose an earsplitting roar.

"In spite of the heaviest armed escort we could afford, that pesky rebel squirrel still managed an assault on our latest supply convoy. Half of our food carts captured or destroyed. A full quarter of the slaves missing. More than a dozen soldiers wounded. Worse yet, not one rebel captured or killed."

After pacing behind his desk, Brigadier Shawarran ordered Colonel Nateem to form a sizable escort for the remaining supplies. Once the stoat left, the wolf called his Aide into the room. A quill rapidly scratched across a sheet of paper the Brigadier withdrew from his desk.

"I'm giving Captain Purrnella Slyclaw a chance to regain her former rank. She tells me she can eliminate that tree rat if I give her free reign to do whatever she wants. Very well, let's see if she can deliver on her promise."

Once the wolf reset his chair, his feral eyes fixated on Wobbles. "And now its time I handle another annoying problem. You need a reminder about the proper way to serve your betters."

The wolf approached her. He reached out and snatched the golden disks she wore, dropping them at her feet. "Delcara died because of these. Their loss will be an object lesson to every slave about disloyalty." He summoned a guard. "Have this worthless slave given ten lashes and sent back to Ferretville with the next convoy. Maybe she can be more useful as a grunt working with our engineers."

Hours later, her paws gripped the crossbar of a cart transporting injured soldiers back to Ferretville. She ran at a steady pace fearing the guards as they flicked their switches at the feet of any slow slave. Several times the sting of the willow rod against her legs competed for attention from the welts that crisscrossed her back.

Wobbles suffered an even greater pain than the public flogging. Just before the convoy departed camp, Shawarran informed her that when this war ended, he had to decide if she would become the personal servant of Captain Purrnella or if she would finish her life pulling an oar on some merchant vessel. One fate exposed her to the possibility of a long and painful death while the other meant a harsh existence that always ended in a watery grave.


End file.
